John Mallory had inherited his father’s title and was seemingly relishing his position rather too much for his mother’s liking.
“Lady Mallory, why have you come here today? You mentioned fraud?”
“Yes, I did. To keep my mind occupied, I decided to make a start on some of the mundane tasks one has to deal with when someone passes. Cancelling standing orders and the like. I contacted the bank and dropped Hugh’s death certificate to them. They reviewed the account, and we ran through some memberships and things that would need to be cancelled, you know, the RAC and suchlike. There was a rather large payment that went out each month to a charity. I remember Hugh mentioning it once. It’s one of those organisations that has a general donation policy and benefits all sorts of causes. The bank said it was a little odd as it wasn’t a standing order for a set monthly sum but a direct debit. So basically the recipients could take as much each month as they wanted, and boy were they doing that! Over the last few months, the figure has increased substantially.” She took a shaky breath and sipped at her water. “The last few payments were for £25,000 each.”
He kept his face impassive, but it wasn’t easy. “That is a hefty sum.”
“I can’t believe Hugh was so stupid. He tried very hard to be a charitable soul, but this was ridiculous. He didn’t keep any paperwork on them. I looked everywhere. Just a name, the Phoenix Foundation, and a Panama PO Box address. We’re very well-off, but this amount of money is astronomical. He can’t have been in his right mind. They’ve taken advantage of him, and I want something done about this. I probably shouldn’t have come here, but I didn’t know who to turn to.”
Le Claire knew he should say some soothing words, send her on her way and ask the FCU if this warranted their looking into. It was nothing to do with him, and he shouldn’t get involved. She looked old and worn out. “Okay, leave it with me. One of my guys is a whizz at ferreting out stuff online. I’ll get him to have a look at it, and then I’ll chat to the FCU guys.”
Relief lit her face and took away some of the worry lines. “Thank you, I do appreciate it.”
Le Claire saw her out of the building, realised it was too late for lunch and headed back to the incident room. He needed to pass this investigation off to someone, forget about it and get on with his most urgent priority, finding out who killed Scott Hamlyn.
#
Ana was settled in her new home and wanted to pinch herself, hard, to make sure this wasn’t a dream. When Le Claire and Dewar left, she had dutifully risen from the table and followed Elizabeth and a yapping Buster outside, and they’d carried on around the side of the house to a small paved courtyard. A yellow-painted door was set into the pink granite wall; wooden tubs overflowing with masses of geraniums flanked the entrance.
The doorway opened straight onto a sitting room, kitchen and dining area. It was large and airy and filled with soft, colourful furnishings and shiny appliances. An archway led into a large bedroom with plenty of wardrobes and its own en-suite bathroom. Elizabeth had pointed to a closed door at the far end of the kitchen area. It was a connecting door into the house, kept locked, but Elizabeth had explained that made the property available for occupation by people without full residential qualifications. Ana couldn’t have cared less. This was paradise.
Scott would have been so pleased for her. Ana had come to know that her cousin was shy, cripplingly so, and that his armour was an arrogant attitude that kept most people at arm’s length. She felt a pang of pain at his loss, which, coupled with the events of the previous night, caused a wave of self-pity to cloak her as she felt a momentary despair. When her parents had died and the opportunity arose to travel to Jersey, she had jumped at the chance. Not for adventure, not to better herself – the main driving factor had been to connect with her mother’s family, her family, and build a relationship with them. From a tentative start, she and Scott had been well on the way to building a friendship that would last the years, but that had been taken away by Scott’s death. Now she was only left with an aunt who wanted nothing to do with her.
Sarah Hamlyn wasn’t an easy woman to know but Ana had held a glimmer of hope that the woman would soften in time. She had to accept that this might no longer be an option, not when her aunt had lost her son. If anything, Sarah’s bitterness would probably increase, leaving no place for Ana. They were tied by blood, but sometimes that just wasn’t enough. She huffed out a heavy exhalation as she rose from the chair and walked to the small kitchen area. There were only tiny pinpricks of muted pain when she put pressure on the soles of her feet, and she was hopeful she’d be back to normal in a few days.
But the worst injuries weren’t always physical. She shuddered as she thought of that man, touching her, doing what he wanted, and then she thought how lucky she had been – for how much worse would it have been and, disturbingly, how would the night have ended if Le Claire hadn’t been there? Her stomach lurched, and, leaning against the kitchen counter, she sipped from her water glass to combat the waves of nausea.
Her mobile buzzed on the worktop. She’d put it on vibrate earlier, and looking at the caller ID, she smiled and felt some of the day’s heaviness lift.
“Ben, hi. How’s it going?”
“All good. What have you been up to?”
Ana didn’t know how to respond. So much had happened, and most of it wasn’t something she felt comfortable speaking about on the phone, so she answered the only way she could. “Yeah, everything is fine. How is London?”
“I just got back. For a change, we got everything agreed in one meeting, and there didn’t seem any point in staying over. Look, the reason I called is that I am pretty tied up tomorrow, but I wondered if you fancied meeting up on Monday? Maybe go for a drink somewhere? Or I could make you something to eat at my place?”
“Either sounds good, but I am a little tired; there’s been a lot going on, so dinner at yours would be lovely.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “Great. I’ll give you a call Monday, and we can finalise the times.”
“Okay, thanks. Bye.”
“Bye, Ana. I’ve missed you.” The line disconnected whilst she was still wondering if she had heard correctly. She went to sleep in her new bedroom with a lightened heart and a smile on her face.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Laura felt sick to the pit of her stomach. A hollow tension had taken hold and wouldn’t let go. If the police did their research, if they looked in the right places, they’d see she had been a fixture in certain circles for a number of years. Laura counted millionaires, powerful businessmen and minor aristocracy in her past. She’d been wined and dined by them, but she was no society fixture. The men she’d accompanied, whether for a night, a week or a month, had paid well for her company. No matter what way you coloured it, no matter how she tried to justify it, Laura had been selling sex for years.
She’d often thought hers was the classic story. Small-town girl in search of big-city lights. She’d found the sparkle, the gloss, and then, when she’d been burnt by the ferocity of the bright lights, it had been too late to go home, too late to stop, so she’d carried on. It all started so innocently. In with the right crowd, catch someone’s eye, get asked on a date. Then an offer – to buy a dress, shoes; just so you feel comfortable going to a posh party. You say yes, why not? Only they don’t take you shopping, they just hand you cash – and you take it. That’s how easy it had been.
If it hadn’t been for an old acquaintance throwing her a lifeline, she’d still be in, what was in reality, the escort trade. She figured he felt partially responsible, and maybe he was. She exhaled and her heart-heavy sigh filled the room, echoing in the silence.
She gulped the last of her gin and tonic. It was her second, and she’d been heavy-handed in pouring the measure and gone light on the mixer. She was contemplating having a third, was in fact reaching for the bottle, when there was a knock at the door. Damn, some of the tenants had the habit of nipping out t
o the nearby shops and leaving the main entrance unlatched. So much for expensive security. She certainly wasn’t expecting anyone, so she cautiously looked through the peephole in the solid oak front door. What the hell did he want? She contemplated pretending to be out, but she had never been a coward. Pasting a bright smile on her face, she opened the door. “This is a surprise. What can I do for you?”
She didn’t invite him in, but he pushed past her anyway. “Just a quiet word, that’s all.”
She didn’t have any choice and closed the door, shrugging. “Sure.”
He walked around the lounge and stood in the centre of the room, gazing out to sea. “I’ve always thought this was a fabulous view. How are you?”
“Getting by. To be honest, I’m still in shock.”
“Yeah, I can imagine. Scott was a one-way ticket to easy street for you.”
“You know it wasn’t like that. I was doing okay on my own.”
“What? A monthly salary? Granted, I’m sure it was a generous one, but not quite enough for you to live up to the standard you used to enjoy. Scott had money in the bank and was making more every year. And he had something you could never achieve without him. Respectability. Otherwise why go with someone like him? You had other choices.”
Her laugh was harsh and mirthless. “Not marriage options, and not with someone I cared about. I don’t think I realised how much I loved Scott.” Her voice broke, and she took a deep breath. “I may have made mistakes in my life, but I had one chance to be on the right road, to gain the path I used to be on. Scott knew of my past, and he still wanted me. How many other men would, or even could, do that?”
“I could.”
She was unsure of what to say. The silence lengthened. It was not comfortable, and its growing weight was palpable. She could hear his breathing, knew the moment it changed. He turned and looked straight at her. Then she heard his words, and it took a moment for what he said to sink in. “I’ve waited long enough, Laura. I want another taste of you.”
She was horrified, even though a tiny, cynical part of her thought that she’d had, and done, worse before. Like the last time they’d been together. He’d called out for every vile perversion he fancied that night. “No, that’s never been part of the deal.”
“There is no deal. Scott’s dead, and I’m sure fingers are pointing your way. I could help that along, or I could send the police in another direction. Whatever you want.”
“No, you keep out of my business. I don’t trust you.”
“You may not trust me, but you need me. Your benefactor paid a good sum to keep your past quiet, and now that he’s gone you’ll need to get your money from somewhere. I only want to help you.”
The way he looked at her, hunger vying with possessiveness, made her regret how flimsy her skirt was and how her top hugged her bra-less breasts. She wasn’t dressed for company. She crossed her hands in front of her chest, a reflexive and defensive action. He moved toward her.
“Laura, you know how I’ve always felt about you. I can’t get that night out of my mind.”
“Don’t romanticise it, for I’ve no intention of having a repeat run. You just wanted a piece of the pie. I wouldn’t sleep with you now even if you paid.”
“Payment? Is that what you’re after? I’ll pay you. Come on, Laura.”
The way he said her name, the vulgar caress of the word, made her shiver. She was suddenly conscious of how vulnerable she was at this moment. “I want you to go. Didn’t you hear? Scott left me everything, so I don’t need you or your money.” She walked past him, careful to keep distance between them. She cracked the door open, drew back to open it wide, but before she could react, or even think, a hand slammed against the door, forcing it closed.
She was pinned against the door, facing it as his body pressed tight against her own, his hands planked on either side of her head. He whispered in her ear, his breath warm on her cheek.
“I’m not going anywhere. Not until we’ve been properly reacquainted.”
Laura was trying to make sense of the words and gasped as his hand roughly grabbed her breast and pinched the soft flesh between his fingers. His breathing grew heavier, hitching and rasping. She could feel his erection pressing against her through their layers of clothing. Laura knew how to distance herself from physicality, was an expert in closing down her real self and concealing her very essence as she playacted whatever role her “date” expected or demanded. She could feel the practised tug, urging her to act normal, to tuck herself away, deep down inside, and just let him get on with it. But he wasn’t a client, and she no longer felt like an escort. He was just yet another in a long line of men who thought they owned her. She wasn’t putting up with that. Not anymore.
She arched her back and pushed away from the door, driving her ass into his groin. His moan of pleasure sickened her, but his distraction was her ultimate objective. She allowed a low sigh to escape, and it floated in the air between them. He relaxed his position, and that’s when she acted. She kicked out her left foot and caught him sharply on the shin. His yell of pain gave her a momentary chance; she ducked under his arm and ran across the room toward the sliding doors. All she had to do was get out onto the balcony and scream and scream. At this time of night, neighbours would be in their kitchens or lounges, doors wide open to let in the sea air, or sitting, sipping wine as the sun went down. They would hear her, that was for sure.
She had the lock undone and grasped the long handle, ready to slide the door open, when she turned at his roar of rage as he came running across the room. In one seamless movement, he lashed out, and his blow landed hard against her cheek. She stumbled, and he was on her. “You fucking whore. You dare to treat me like this. You’re a piece of meat. You’ll shut up and do what I say, and you’ll enjoy it, bitch. It’s been a while since you’ve had a real man.” He shoved her to the ground and forced her legs apart with his knee. One hand held her throat, squeezing her windpipe until all she could manage were rasping breaths. He pushed her skirt to her waist, ripped her knickers aside and forced his fingers inside her. She jerked at the pain, screaming silently at the violation. He removed his hand and rubbed his body against hers, grinding into her. The buckle of his jeans pressed into her flesh, and a remote part of her wondered if it would leave an imprint. She, who had known more men than most, who had made a living pandering to their whims, suddenly understood the brutality of sexual assault, of rape rendering you powerless and giving the attacker control – marking you a victim. This bastard didn’t want to have sex with her right now. He wanted to humiliate her, to control her, to subjugate her in the most unimaginable ways possible. That wasn’t going to happen.
She jerked and struggled, kicking, twisting and turning. She managed to dislodge him, pushing him aside; the building rage within her gave a burst of strength. She kicked, she hissed, she would not have this happen.
“Fucking slut.”
The first punch was brutal. The next he inflicted was devastating. Her thoughts stuttered; all she could feel, all she could think about was the searing pain. From somewhere, she found her words. “You won’t get away with this. I’ll get you done. This is serious.”
His laugh filled the air, reverberating through the room. “You stupid bitch, this is nothing, you are nothing. No one else decent is going to be willing to take on an aging call girl. You’d have hated being a prissy little corporate wife, dinner parties and screwing the husband on a Saturday night, keeping a smile on your face. You’d still have been a prostitute. He’d have kept you, paid for your services in respectability, conformity and a share of his pension. You didn’t love him, so that’s still prostitution. You could have had me. Now you’ve ruined it, RUINED IT.”
His raised his arm, his fist clenched, ready to strike, and as the punch landed on her jaw and bones broke, the last she saw was his face, reddened with rage, before her eyes closed in welcome oblivion.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Le Cla
ire drove along the Esplanade, the sun was shining, and even at this time, just gone 8:30 a.m., the Sunday cyclists and joggers were already out. The roads were pretty clear, and in no time he was walking into the station. His mobile rang, and when he answered it, Hunter’s breathless voice poured into his ear.
“Sir, I spoke to the property owners.”
“Good work; that was quick. I’m on my way in, and I’ll see you in the incident room.”
Hunter jumped up to greet him, and Le Claire remembered himself at the same age. He couldn’t believe he had ever been so untouched or innocent, but he must have been once. “Come on, tell me what you know.”
“I spoke to Mr Black. I said we thought the place may have been broken into, but no apparent damage was done. They were pretty shocked and told us to get in touch with the property company that looks after the place. I’ve got the details here.”
“Okay, you better give them a call. Who are they?”
“An EDA Properties. Here are the details.”
Hunter passed across a piece of paper, and Le Claire read the address and smiled. It certainly was a small world. He had a visit to make.
#
The door was opened by a woman he hadn’t seen before. Of medium height, she had an olive complexion and dark hair caught up in an unruly, loose bun. She lifted a brow as Le Claire flashed his badge. “I’m DCI Le Claire. I’d like to talk to someone associated with EDA Properties.”
She shrugged, but her eyes sharpened. “Sure, come on in.”
He followed her through the house to a small back room that was set out as a study with a smoked-glass desk, fancy office chair and boxes and boxes of papers. A man was at the desk. “Darling, this policeman wants a word. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
Blood Ties: Obsession, secrets, desire and murder (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 17