Blood In The Sand: Betrayal, lies, romance and murder. (A Jack Le Claire Mystery)

by Kelly Clayton

  “Hello?” Carter’s voice became hesitant, and a wary note crept in. “Grace? Oh God, Grace, is that you? I didn’t want you to find out this way. I was going to tell you when you got back. It just happened. I still love you, but I’m not in love with you.”

  “You utter bastard!” She slammed down the phone.

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire pulled up the collar on his jacket as he stepped outside the police station, warding off the slight chill that was in the night air. Shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders, he turned to cross the alley that led to the main thoroughfare. He’d pick up a takeaway and head back here to collect his car.

  He could vaguely hear a murmur of voices in one of the deep, arched doorways that led to the storage buildings. The telltale pinpricks of burning embers and the accompanying heavy smoke gave the game away. Smokers having a secret puff, relegated to the outdoors.

  Le Claire made to carry on, but he stopped in his tracks when he heard his name.

  “What’s your take on Le Claire? I mean, I can’t get my head around why he’d come back to the island. It’s not like we get many murders here, and he was supposedly heading up a homicide division at the Met.”

  “Maybe he just fancied a change of pace. London’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “Nah. There’s something suspicious about it if you ask me. I heard there was an accident, and Le Claire was involved.”

  “Really? Come to think of it, I heard he screwed up big time on a major case.”

  Le Claire heard the unmistakable sound of police-issued shoes grinding cigarette butts into the ground and instinctively moved farther back into the shadows.

  “Whatever it was, he’s sitting pretty, isn’t he? With his family, he’s never going to be short of cash, and he’s got the connections to make any issue disappear.”

  “What it is to be a rich boy, eh?”

  Le Claire heard the echoes of their laughter as they walked away. His mood darkened as the damning memories flashed through his mind, and the familiar guilt overwhelmed him. It had been weeks since he had allowed himself to think about what happened in London.

  He wasn’t surprised by his colleague’s comments. No one would dare say anything to his face, but there were always rumours and speculation—especially when the gossip was based on fact.

  ◆◆◆

  The next morning, Sam made his way to Paul Armstrong’s office. He’d had a call from the lawyer to say that Grace wanted to see them both. As it was Saturday, Sam only had one appointment lined up. Later that day, he was to meet with a potential investor for a large project on which they’d had a setback. He felt slightly sick. They had to get the funding. If not, all they’d worked for could be at risk.

  Grace was already there when Sam arrived. She sat on one of Paul’s colourful armchairs, her paleness accentuated by her plain black dress. She looked more subdued than he had seen her before, staying quiet while Paul poured coffees and got them settled. Sam was intrigued. Grace did not seem at all like the self-confident woman he had seen over the past few days. She looked a little lost and vulnerable.

  Paul spoke up. “Grace, you wanted to say something?”

  “Yes, I do. I already gave you my decision that torn though I was, I just could not agree to Kate’s conditions and stay in Jersey.”

  Grace paused. Sam and Paul waited patiently for her to speak. “Well, my circumstances have changed, and I need a break from New York. If it isn’t too late, I’d like to accept Kate’s conditions or,” Grace’s smile was fleeting, “was it more of a challenge she issued? If it was, then that is fine by me. I’m picking up the gauntlet.”

  There was a heavy pause, broken only when Paul let out a long breath of relief. “I am delighted. So very, very delighted.”

  Sam still hadn’t said anything. Something wasn’t right, he just knew it. The woman in front of him seemed a shadow of herself.

  “Sam, what do you think of this, then?” probed Paul, still beaming with pleasure.

  Sam spoke as he turned to face Grace. “It is good news—but certainly surprising. You seemed quite adamant before. What made you change your mind?”

  “Oh, just something... nothing really.”

  Grace couldn’t meet Sam’s eyes or Paul’s either, for that matter.

  Paul brought them back to the practicalities. “Well, Sam, no doubt you can move in at short notice. Grace, when will you be coming back from the States?”

  “I’m staying. My things can be sent over to me, and my mother can have someone close the apartment for a while.”

  Paul raised his eyebrows. “Well, in that case, you can move in when you like. I’ll have the gardener and cleaner kept on for the moment. All the bills are being sent here, so all you have to do is move in.”

  “Okay, I’m packed already, so today is fine by me.”

  ◆◆◆

  Grace checked out of the hotel and took a cab to Rocque View, giving her a chance to marshal her thoughts. She had three months to consider what to do next, but her old life wasn’t an option, certainly not the Carter part.

  Sam’s Jeep was already parked in the courtyard, as was a dark blue BMW, which she assumed belonged to Paul. Before she was properly out of the cab, Sam had appeared, paid the driver, gotten her luggage out of the boot and closed the car door after she’d exited. Grace was too tired to make any objection to his high-handed ways.

  Paul walked around from the gardens, gave them each a set of keys and wished them well. A middle-aged couple walked up behind him, and he formally introduced Grace and Sam to Mr and Mrs De Freitas, the couple who looked after the house and gardens on a part-time basis.

  Belying her Portuguese surname, Fiona De Freitas was a fifty-something Irish colleen. If her russet hair and sparkling green eyes didn’t give away her birthplace, it was born out as soon as she opened her mouth and spoke in her soft brogue.

  “Sam, good to see you. Miss Howard, please accept our condolences. Kate was a marvellous woman.”

  “Please call me Grace, and thank you for the kind words.”

  “I come and clean the house once a week, and Luca spends a couple of mornings in the garden. He’ll also do any odd jobs you have.” Her husband, Luca, looked to be in his early fifties, a sturdy man of average height with tightly curled black hair that was tipped with silver. His swarthy complexion was darkened from working in the sun.

  “Our telephone number is on the board in the kitchen. Just call if you need anything. We only live five minutes away.”

  Paul and the de Freitas said their good-byes and left Grace and Sam alone.

  “Right,” said Sam. “Let’s tour the house and pick a bedroom.”

  “A bedroom?” Grace squeaked.

  “Sure, a bedroom for each of us. What did you think I meant?” As this remark was accompanied by a broad wink, Grace figured Sam was teasing. So she ignored him, again.

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire was in his office. On a Saturday. As usual. It was either that or slob at home thinking about work, or his estranged wife. He’d dreamed of Sasha, and their previous life and the vivid images haunted him when he awoke. Sweat-covered, he’d lain in his lonely bed trying to figure out where it had first gone wrong. It all came back to one thing. Him. He was the one who screwed up.

  “Sir, there you are. I was hoping you’d pop in today.” Dewar came bounding up to Le Claire, exhibiting a puppy-like enthusiasm that was quite unlike her usual dour nature. She was even smiling.

  “Well, Dewar, what has got into you today? Surely you aren’t happy? Come on, spit it out. And then you can get back to your usual miserable state.” Le Claire knew his voice was waspish, but after thinking about Sasha, he had to vent on someone. Although he had to admit to feeling a little shame that he was picking on his defenceless subordinate.

  Dewar’s smile faltered and fell back into her usual grim expression. “I was trying, albeit obviously failing, to express joy, sir.”

  “Joy
at what?”

  “At unearthing a potential killer.”

  Le Claire stopped in his tracks. “What the hell?”

  Her voice grew serious, “You were right about Kate Avery’s death, sir. It just doesn’t add up.”

  “What have you found?”

  Dewar’s eyes lit up. “For a start, I checked with the evidence room. They had taken in several of the items from the scene, including the insulin injector pen.”

  “And?” Le Claire could feel the stirrings of anticipation.

  “Well, with it seemingly being a tragic accident, no one looked any further. As you already discovered, the needle had been removed but wasn’t picked up at the scene. Last night, I asked Harper in the lab to run a quick check on the injector. I just wanted to make sure there was only one set of fingerprints. I asked him to do a rush job, and the results are in.”

  “There were more than one person’s prints?” Le Claire asked, hopefully.

  “No, sir. There weren’t any prints at all. The damned thing was all but polished to a shine. The doctor said that given Kate Avery’s slight frame, the massive insulin overdose would have started affecting her almost immediately. This backs up what the specialist said the other day. Plus, we know the disposable needle had been unscrewed and removed. Would an elderly woman in the throes of a hypoglycaemic reaction really have the time to remove the needle, discard it somewhere—as it wasn’t on the balcony—and then needlessly wipe the injector pen?”

  A broad smile lit Le Claire’s face. “Well done, Dewar. Come on. We’ve got work to do. The case of Kate Avery’s death is officially open and marked suspicious.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Grace lay on her new bed, wrapped in a bath towel, gazing through the long windows towards the sea. As she was on the second floor of the house, her view was endless—clear blue sky and sparkling turquoise sea.

  The bed, the pillows and the duvet were so soft and cocooning that she was drifting off. Perhaps she needed a couple of hours of sleep, blocking out the situation with Carter and numbing the pain for a while. Her closing eyes flicked open at the jarring noise of her ringing phone. Grace hesitated as she saw the caller ID, but decided she’d best get it over with.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  “Is that all you have to say, Grace?”

  Her mother’s clipped vowels and precise diction dripped ice through the phone.

  “Well...” Grace began.

  “Can you even begin to imagine how I felt when I heard your voice mail? What on earth possessed you to break up with Carter, and you say you’re staying in England? Nonsense!”

  “Jersey, Mother, not England. Jersey isn’t part of the UK; it’s a dependency—quite separate.”

  “Who the hell gives a damn!”

  Grace was shocked at this lack of control, the display of passion. That never, ever happened. Within moments, her mother had regained her coolness.

  “Forgive me, Grace. I am quite naturally upset. I trust you’ll see the error of your ways and be home soon to sort out this terrible mess. Poor Carter must be so distraught.”

  “What about poor Grace? I’m not coming back. I told you in my message that I’ll be staying in Jersey for a while.”

  A furious huff of breath preceded her mother’s next words. “Don’t be ridiculous. What about Carter? What about work?”

  “Carter is having an affair. He wants to be with his lover, who happens to be my assistant. I obviously can’t face them, so going back to work is out of the question. Are you satisfied?”

  There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Mother, are you still there?”

  “Yes, yes, I am. But isn’t staying away just playing into this woman’s hands? You’re leaving the coast clear for her. You must come home and fight for Carter.”

  “No.” Grace didn’t think she had ever said that to her mother before, so she repeated it for good measure. “No, Mother. Carter hasn’t been stolen. He wants her, not me, and I am happy to leave it at that.”

  “But—”

  “Will you help me with closing my apartment temporarily, or should I call someone else?”

  “No, Grace.” Her mother’s voice sounded weary. “I’ll take care of everything. I just don’t understand you, I really don’t.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem, Mother.” And with that, she hung up.

  ◆◆◆

  Dressed in loose cotton pants and an off-the-shoulder baggy T-shirt, Grace made her way downstairs. As she passed the open kitchen door, she glimpsed several foil-covered dishes on the counter. She lifted the cover off a large platter and saw a colourful salad. Sam must’ve been busy.

  Grace wandered outside. Sam was nowhere in sight. The water in the pool sparkled in the early evening sun. A cloth-covered table had been set for two on the terrace. The patterned pottery and glassware made for informality. A silver ice bucket held a bottle of white, and the red wine had been left on the table to breathe. Pink-and-turquoise-striped cotton cushions were scattered on the chairs.

  Although Grace wondered at Sam’s motives for creating such a perfect setting for... well, whatever he had in mind... she felt a twinge of guilt as she realised how busy he’d been while she’d been relaxing.

  “Did you manage to get yourself settled in?” Sam walked out of the house. His hair was damp, and he wore faded jeans and a plain T-shirt.

  “Yes, thank you. However, I feel incredibly guilty that you’ve gone to so much trouble. Thank you.” Grace indicated the beautifully laid table.

  “Afraid I can’t take any of the credit for this. Mum called earlier and asked what we were doing tonight. When I told her we didn’t have anything planned, she said you—not me, mind, but you—shouldn’t have to lift a finger after all you’ve been through. She dropped off some seafood and salad. She must have set the table and put the wine out at the same time. She’s nothing if not thorough.”

  “Wow. What a mother! Mine would’ve ordered in catering and sent the maid over but still would have wanted all the glory.”

  At Sam’s gentle laugh, Grace wondered where that comment had come from. She usually never criticised her mother. But now her old life seemed a bit regimented, maybe a little false and—this gave her pause—perhaps also a little bit cold.

  “Mum’s reward will be knowing she did something nice for us, that we’ll have an easier night because of her efforts.”

  Grace arched an eyebrow. “Hmmm, you sure you’re not a mummy’s boy, Sam Avery?”

  “I might be, Grace. I just might be.”

  There was a brief silence, and the peace of the garden seemed to envelop them. The rustling of the gentle sea breeze through the leaves of oak, birch and bay trees was overlaid by the intermittent background sounds of nature and the neighbourhood all around them.

  Sam broke the quiet. “Why don’t you pour us both a drink, and I’ll nip upstairs for the food.”

  Grace happily agreed and, taking a seat at the table, poured two generous glasses of the straw-coloured wine. She watched Sam as he headed to the house and was surprised when he suddenly turned and veered toward the drive. A car parked up and two people got out. It was the police.

  ◆◆◆

  “Miss Howard, the hotel said we could find you here. We have an update for you regarding Kate Avery’s death.”

  She looked puzzled. “Please call me Grace.”

  Le Claire accepted the informality. “Grace, I am afraid I have some disturbing news. The States of Jersey police have officially opened the case into Kate Avery’s death, and we are now treating it as suspicious.”

  Sam Avery said, “Jesus, you think Kate was murdered?” His face was ashen as he walked across to Grace and, sitting next to her, took her hand in his. Pale and shocked, she did not demur.

  Dewar kept her face noncommittal. “It is an avenue we are exploring.”

  Grace gasped and slowly shook her head from side to side. “This can’t be true. Why? Why would someone do this?
And to Kate, of all people.” She turned into Sam Avery’s arms and started to sob. He ran a consoling hand down her back as Le Claire spoke.

  “I must ask if you can think of any reason someone would want to harm Mrs Avery. Did she have any enemies?”

  “None. Kate was a lovely woman. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like her.”

  Sam Avery concurred. “I have known Kate all my life. She was universally respected. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt her.”

  Yet someone did. “I won’t keep you further at the moment, but we will need to speak to you again. Please do let us know if you think of anything, no matter how small, that could be helpful to our investigation.”

  Grace had composed herself, but her voice trembled a little. “Please forgive my outburst. Just such a shock.”

  “We’ll let you know more as soon as we can. I just wanted you to be aware of this development as soon as possible.”

  ◆◆◆

  Several hours later, Grace surveyed the debris on the table. “I can’t believe I mustered up an appetite. Not after that news.” She reached for her wine glass and took a long drink. She knew alcohol wasn’t ever the answer, but tonight she needed an escape, to somehow dull the pain.

  “I can’t take it in. Who would kill Kate? Why? It doesn’t make sense.” She shook her head, numb, sipped at her wine. There was nothing more to say.

  Sam gaze held hers for a moment past politeness. A few charged seconds that took their conversation to a different level. “Tell me what’s wrong? Why did you stay? Why the change of heart?”

  She laughed, a short, sharp, brittle sound.

  “That just about sums it up nicely, Sam. It is all about a change of heart; but not mine. No, not mine.”

  Grace’s tone was wistful as she grabbed her glass, taking a sip of her wine.

  “Whose change of heart was it?”

  Grace was tired. She’d lost Kate—someone she had truly loved. Her love life lay in ruins. She had a suspicion that she may have messed up her career and suddenly didn’t have a damned idea as to who she was. If she wasn’t the future Mrs Carter Lawson, up-and-coming lawyer, then who was she?