Blood Ties: Obsession, secrets, desire and murder (A Jack Le Claire Mystery)

by Kelly Clayton

  She was working from Philip Le Claire’s town office today. Her in-box was flooded with emails, and she was currently drafting a schedule for some high-level meetings. She couldn’t afford to mess up and had to give the task her full concentration.

  The shrill sound of her mobile broke the silence. She checked the caller ID, and her heart flipped. She quickly answered. “Ben, this is a surprise. How are you?”

  “I’m well, but something has come up.” He sounded stressed. “I’m in London already, got here this morning.”

  Her shoulders slumped, and a rush of disappointment enveloped her. She kept her voice light. “Oh, that is a shame. Maybe we can go away together another time?”

  “No, we’re still going to have our break. The only difference is that you will need to travel here on your own. I’ll email you the e-ticket number, okay?”

  Excitement bubbled. Her emotions were on a roller-coaster these days. “That’s great. Thank you.”

  “And I’ll meet you at Victoria Station.” There was the briefest of pauses, and when he spoke his voice was a butterfly of a caress. “I can’t wait to see you.”

  This was the most direct he had ever been about feelings, so she didn’t think, just spoke and leapt off the cliff with him. “Me too. I’ll count the days.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. Look, I’m going to be crazy busy, so I won’t be able to call you. I’ll see you at Victoria Station on Thursday. Send me a text when you’re on the Gatwick Express. Take care.”

  She hung up and basked in the memory of his words, hugging them to her like a warm embrace. She just had to make sure she didn’t mess it up, for she could see this maybe going somewhere. For the first time since Irena had left and Scott had died, she was feeling happy and confident and, surprisingly, at home.

  #

  Le Claire had sent Dewar to put the kettle on, telling her he had a quick call to make; anything to get out of the room and allow the situation to calm. He had stepped into the hall just as Sarah Hamlyn burst into hysterical, messy tears, her hitching sobs echoing in the otherwise silent room. She was now huddled in the corner of the sofa, rocking back and forth her arms wrapped tight around herself. She was staring straight ahead, eyes fixed, and he figured it had been best to give her time to gather her wits. Charles Hamlyn was tense and silent, his back to the room, as he stared out the window that overlooked their well-tended garden.

  A rattle of china heralded Dewar’s return, and she carefully settled the tray on a low table. Coffees all round and a tea for her. No one reached for a cup, not even Dewar.

  Le Claire broke the silence. “Mr Hamlyn, when did you find out that your wife was Ana’s mother?” The secret was out, and it wasn’t going back in the box.

  “About ten days ago. I overheard Scott talking to Ana. I was at his apartment, helping with some odd jobs. Ana had come round for coffee. She was shy when she saw me. Sarah’s attitude has made her wary of us both, I guess. He was being a bit bossy, telling her he had never liked her friend – Irena, I think she is called – and that Ana better not get a boyfriend unless he okay’d him. The two of them were laughing their heads off. Ana put on a mock-pout, said he could keep his opinions to himself, it wasn’t like he was her brother.”

  He ran a shaking hand across his brow. “I was watching from the hallway. Scott stopped laughing. Said nothing would make him prouder than to be her big brother. It was the way he said it. I knew something wasn’t right.” He reached out, picked up a cup of coffee and gulped half of it down.

  Le Claire waited a moment and then urged him on. “What happened next?”

  “Ana left. I asked Scott what he meant about being Ana’s brother. He wouldn’t say, but I knew he was holding back. We argued. I asked him when he found out, and he realised I had suspected something. He told me about the private detective, said he knew everything. I begged him not to speak to his mother, to let it be. He wouldn’t listen. He did promise he wouldn’t say anything to Sarah until he and I had spoken again. We never had a chance to do that.”

  “How did Scott find out in the first place?”

  “We never told Scott that we had split up, and we thought he didn’t remember London. Sarah had told him that his aunt had gone to live in Poland and had a child and the sisters had lost touch over the years. However, he did have some memories, and they were coming back stronger. I think Ana’s arrival may have been the trigger. He remembered a little baby and a big house set on a square with a garden in the middle. Then Ana told him she’d been born in London and not Poland. He said he wanted his mind at rest, so he hired the investigator.”

  Le Claire asked, “What made you think that your wife was Ana’s mother?”

  “I knew something wasn’t right when Sarah came back to me. I couldn’t understand why she said we were over and then, months later, wanted to come home. She was changed – physically and mentally – in little ways that I could easily dismiss as the years went by. But I guess they have always stayed in my mind. And then Ana arrived, and Sarah’s reaction to her was so extreme. It all started falling into place.”

  A keening moan escaped from his wife.

  Le Claire was quick as a whip. “Did you kill your son, Mr Hamlyn?”

  His head jerked up. “No, of course I didn’t. I loved him.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not mutually exclusive.”

  “Charles couldn’t have killed Scott.” Sarah Hamlyn’s voice was a ghost of a whisper. “Why would he? Would a man who’d kill his son for knowing a secret leave his wife unharmed when she was the guilty party, the wrongdoer?”

  Dewar faced Charles Hamlyn. “But you took his laptop, didn’t you? And the letter from the investigator. That’s why you called the apartment. You wanted to make sure that Laura was out. Did you see her leave? Then you parked in the car park, let yourself in, searched for and took the letter and also your son’s laptop for good measure. That right?”

  “Yes. I had to get the letter, for my wife’s sake. I took the laptop in case there were any emails about the report, but I did not kill my son.”

  “I hear you, but the proverbial jury is out on that at the moment.”

  He moved in front of Sarah Hamlyn. She lifted her head and looked at him; her eyes were red-rimmed and slightly unfocussed. “For the record, and to be clear, are you Ana Zielinska’s mother?”

  “What do you mean, for the record? This is no one’s business but mine. You can’t tell anyone.”

  “If this has nothing to do with Scott’s death, then I can assure you that it will go no further. In the meantime, we’ll put any notes under the highest security access. However, if this is related to your son’s death, then we can’t keep it quiet.”

  She pursed her lips and looked to the side, seemed to think for a moment and then conceded. “Fine. Yes, I gave birth to Ana, but her mother was my sister. I wanted nothing to do with the child.”

  “Can you tell us what happened?”

  Her eyes pleaded with him. “My husband doesn’t need to hear this. This is ancient history. It has nothing to do with Scott’s death.”

  Charles Hamlyn’s voice was weary. “I read the report. I think I deserve to know after all these years, don’t you?”

  She was looking at Le Claire, but he knew she was really speaking to the man sitting next to her, her husband of thirty years.

  “Charles and I weren’t getting on. We’d been arguing nonstop since Scott was born, and he was nearly three by that time. Nowadays people would say I had postnatal depression; at the time I just seemed like a bitch. After a particularly vicious row, I took Scott, packed our bags and caught a flight to my sister’s in London. I didn’t mean to be gone long. I just wanted to teach Charles a lesson. In the end, it was a year before we went home.”

  Le Claire prompted her. “Tell us about Ana. May I ask who her father is?

  Her voice was husky as she let go the weight of her secret, now released after all these years. “H
er father was, is and will always be Pieter Zielinska, my sister’s husband. The man I had an affair with was just the catalyst; he never even knew about the child. A stupid, drunken fling that lasted a few days. I was an immoral little slut. He was a Polish colleague of Pieter’s on a sabbatical. I had already ended it before he was due to return home. I’d realised that I loved Charles and wanted to come back and try again.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “Charles was working as an engineer then and was on an assignment abroad. That was what we mostly argued about. He was travelling, and I was left at home with a small child. The contract had weeks to run. We planned that he’d come and see me after that. By then it was too late. I was pregnant. I had to tell Charles I’d made my mind up and we were over. I couldn’t terminate the pregnancy. That’s against all I believe in. I made arrangements with my sister, Alison, that she would take the child, and my secret, to Poland. We’d break contact. Ali would have a child, something she longed for, and I could forget my mistake and get on with my life. When the child was a few weeks old, I went to Charles, cap in hand, and he took me back.” She reached out, fumbling, and grabbed hold of her husband’s hand. “Charles was wonderful.”

  Le Claire knew they’d get nothing else of use today. The emotions were running high, and they all felt wrung out – he certainly did! “There’s nothing more for us to say at the moment, but we will be talking to you again. Can you get me the laptop and the letter, please?”

  Hamlyn went to do his bidding as Sarah Hamlyn walked them toward the front door. They waited in an uncomfortable silence. Le Claire was relieved when his phone rang and answered immediately. He listened, a growing anticipation in his gut. He ended the call. “Dewar, go and hurry Hamlyn along. We’ve got to get to the hospital. Laura Brown has woken up and is asking for me.”

  #

  Laura Brown was a mess. Her face was swollen into a round ball, and huge swathes of multi-coloured bruises covered every inch of flesh. Her eyelids were puffed and yellowed, the entire eye area battered and bruised. A nurse sat by the bed and rose as she saw Le Claire and Dewar. Her disapproving look disappeared as she realised Dr Foster accompanied them. The doctor’s face was tense as he asked, “Any further improvement?”

  “No, she is coming in and out of awareness and is virtually incoherent when she is conscious. I can’t make out what she is saying except she asks for a Le Claire.”

  He looked at the nurse. “That’s me. Can I try and speak to her?”

  It was Foster who replied. “Go ahead. I wouldn’t normally let a patient in this condition be approached by anyone except the medical staff, but when she is awake, she is anxious and gets upset when we say you aren’t here.”

  The nurse moved away from the bed, and he saw Foster motion for her to leave the room. He sat in the chair and gazed at Laura Brown. The room had a closed-off, claustrophobic feel; the slatted blinds were down but slightly open, and strips of sunlight lay across the bed. Laura Brown’s breath was shallow, and she lay flat on her back, her arms atop the covers. Multiple drip lines were connected to an intravenous feeder. The intermittent soft beep of the machine was strangely hypnotic.

  Foster stepped forward, took Laura’s hand in his and, bending down, leaned close to her ear and spoke gently. “Laura, we’ve done what you wanted. We have the police. DCI Le Claire is here. Laura?”

  There was silence in the room, only broken by the rhythmic noise from the machine. Le Claire kept his voice low. “Laura, it’s Jack Le Claire. You wanted me. I’m here.” He abstractly ran his fingers over her hand. It was cold to the touch, and there was no response. Her eyelids flickered, just a fraction. “Come on, Laura. What is it? Who did you go to meet the night Scott died? Who did this to you?”

  Her eyes were slits, and he could tell from the taut, swollen flesh that she couldn’t open them any farther.

  Her lips parted. Twice she tried to speak, and each time her bone-dry voice faltered. Foster gave her a drink of water, carefully holding the back of her head in position to allow her to take small sips. She choked a little, and the words came in a rasping whisper. “I went to see him. The night Scott died. I begged him for help, wanted the past forgotten. Said he couldn’t help.

  “Who, Laura, who?”

  “Gillespie…” She broke into a coughing fit, the raw sound causing more than one of them in the room to wince. And with that, she closed her eyes, and her head fell to the side.

  Le Claire spoke quickly, “Did Gillespie hurt you? Which one? Laura!”

  His voice had risen, and Foster shoved him aside. Le Claire saw the moment the doctor visibly relaxed.

  “She’s still alive, thank God. You two,” he looked at Le Claire and Dewar, “get out of here. This is a very ill girl.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Le Claire was making his way to interview Lena Davies when a voice called out. “Sir, wait, please.”

  A puffing Hunter was hurrying toward him. “What is it?”

  “You need to know before you go in, sir. A girl was attacked on Sunday might. Someone broke into her bedroom. Groped her a little but mainly scared her witless.”

  He tapped his foot. “Why is this important for me to know right now?”

  “Because the landlady said she had only just moved in that day. The previous occupant left the day before. It was Ana Zielinska.”

  Le Claire stilled. “How is the girl?”

  “Fine, the attacker apparently ran off in a panic as soon he looked at her face.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. It appears that Basil Davies’s depravity knows no bounds.”

  Lena Davies’s face was set and her chin lifted in a stubborn tilt when Le Claire opened the door to the interview room. “I told you yesterday that I don’t know what you’re talking about. My husband and I are sexually adventurous. Big deal. You’ve gone behind our backs and searched our house, so what if you’ve found some masks? We like to dress up, don’t you?” Her smile was flirtatious. She wasn’t looking her best today. Her makeup-free face was blotchy, which accentuated the dark circles under her eyes. Without the glossy lipstick, her mouth looked small and mean.

  “Lena, we know all about it.” For a moment, what looked like fear crossed her face, then she lifted her chin higher, and he saw defiance in her eyes and a smirk that said it all. Prove it.

  “We found the stock of invitations. The same invitations that were issued for a party where a young girl was molested. Now I think I could make a damned good case that you organise these parties, lure young and innocent girls to them and let them be used by lecherous swine like your husband.”

  He looked at Dewar. “What do you think?”

  “I think that is exactly what happened.”

  “Yes, and that will carry a much higher charge than molestation alone. You’re going to jail, Lena, and if you don’t mind me saying so, I don’t think that’s going to be complimentary to your looks.”

  “Stop, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t prove anything.”

  “We have the invitations, the masks, the dress and wig you wore at the last party.”

  “That little bitch, she did recognise me.”

  He couldn’t believe she had organised all this on her own. “I assume Basil was in it with you. I can just see it, the two of you getting your kicks, lining up people to pay to get into your parties. Did you blackmail them later? Basil said he was going to take pictures of Ana. Is that what happened? You photographed people and blackmailed them?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t.” She looked frantic as she glanced from one to the other. “All I did was help with the arrangements. I don’t know anything about blackmail, I don’t! Basil and I just needed to keep that girl quiet. She could easily have recognised us.”

  “But she didn’t. Basil was going to rape her. You think that was okay? He’s going down for that and for breaking into Ana’s old place and attacking the girl who moved in there. He
’s got a nice long stretch coming up for that. You’ll be down as an accessory at the very least.”

  “He wasn’t supposed to do any of that. I just told him to frighten her. Make sure she kept her mouth shut.”

  “You’re my only suspect for the parties, Lena.”

  “There’s nothing against holding private parties.”

  His voice was dry. “No, but it does get tricky if you use someone else’s house without permission. Then there’s tagging people as entertainment. Are they paid for that? People certainly pay for the pleasure of attending the parties. What’s the going rate for free access to drugs, sex and perversions?”

  “Everyone is consenting adults.”

  “Ana wasn’t consenting.” He paused, spoke carefully, making sure she took in every word. “I have no one else in the frame, Lena. Basil will be charged with the attacks, but I think he’s too lazy and stupid to be the organiser, to be the brains behind these parties. Everything I have right now points to you.”

  Fear clouded her gaze, and he saw the exact moment realisation hit of exactly how much trouble she was in.

  “It wasn’t me. I just did what I was told. It wasn’t me.” Her voice ended on a hitching sob, her breath coming in hard, sharp gasps.

  “Then who was it?”

  “Danny. Danny Gillespie.”

  Le Claire tensed, and for a split second his breathing was suspended. “What did Danny do? You need to give me something. Tell me what happened.”

  Tiny beads of sweat glistened on her upper lip; her pupils were dilated and her eyes unfocused.

  “Come on, Lena. Don’t make it harder on yourself. You think Danny Gillespie would keep quiet for you?”

  She gnawed on the side of her lip; her shoulders slumped as she leaned forward and cradled her head in her hands. Her words were a murmur. “How the hell did this happen?”

  Dewar snorted. “You tell us, Lena.” He had to admire how well she naturally fell into the bad-cop routine.

  “It was just fun. Basil and I are, well, I told you, we’re adventurous. We started having parties for like-minded people. We just wanted a safe place for people to express their sexuality. We used to hold events at various houses. They were just private, suburban parties, but they got more popular. We had to start charging an entry fee to cover drinks, toys and condoms.”