“I’ve changed my plans. I’ll be around for a while.”
Surprise briefly crossed James’s face, and Grace saw a flicker of interest. “That is wonderful news. If it’s okay, can I give you a call sometime and we’ll grab a bite to eat?”
Grace was slightly taken aback. The last thing she needed was a date. Did he mean a date? No, surely he was just friendly. “Sure. I’m staying at Rocque View.”
Grace fished in her bag for a card with her cell number and handed it to James.
“Great. I’ll be in touch.” James briefly glanced at the card and pocketed it. “I had better get back to my friends. I hope you all enjoy the rest of your day.”
As James strolled away, there was a brief silence. Sam’s face was unreadable as he said, “Well, you’ve got a date. He’s quite well-off, I hear. Suppose he’s handsome enough if you go for those sort of bland looks.”
Susannah laughed, a gentle, understanding sound, and turned to Grace. “Sam and James were at school together. I don’t think they’ve ever got over their boyhood rivalry.”
“Anyway,” Grace said with finality, “it isn’t a date. That is the very last thing on my mind.”
CHAPTER NINE
Harriet sprawled on her sofa. She’d had a bitch of a day. She’d let that cow Ellen know precisely what she thought of her. Throwing her out of the restaurant like that—damned cheek. As for those two little suck-ups, Sam and Grace, they’d known which side their bread was buttered on. Why else would they have acted as if they actually liked that old biddy Kate?
And then there was Ray. They’d had words in the taxi on the way home, and he’d dropped her off at her place and said he may—may—see her later. She knew better. He’d come crawling around soon.
The doorbell rang, the loud buzzer disturbing the quiet of the room. Harriet stumbled against the wall as she went to the intercom. Her solitary late lunch had been a bottle of merlot, and she was now well on her way to the bottom of another one, which would be all the dinner she’d have tonight.
She recognised the voice instantly. This should be interesting.
As she waited for her guest to arrive, Harriet caught a glimpse of herself in the ornate mirror that covered most of one wall in the long, narrow hallway. She looked old. With all too rare clarity, Harriet saw—and understood—the bitterness that had driven her life etched into her face. All the Botox and nips and tucks in the world couldn’t fully disguise that. But she’d try anyway. As soon as she got some money from Kate’s estate—and she better—she was having the works done.
Harriet brushed her melancholy aside and tidied herself up. Running a finger under each eye, she rubbed away the smudged eyeliner and mascara, slightly wetting her finger to erase the stubborn marks. She smoothed a hand over her hair, trying to regain some of the order from earlier that day.
Harriet went to open the door, eager to find out what her visitor would have to say.
◆◆◆
Derek Lang had a problem. He was the caretaker at Harriet’s apartment block, and she had rung him the morning before, a Sunday at that, complaining about a broken blind. She had demanded that he be at her door at 8:00 a.m. the next morning to fix it! Derek was the maintenance guy, but he was only supposed to deal with fixtures and fittings, not the occupants’ own furnishings, and no matter how he looked at it, that meant it wasn’t his responsibility if her fancy blind was broken.
He knew he was a nice chap, a hard worker and trusted employee. He was also absolutely terrified of Harriet and her abrupt mood swings, which is why he found himself knocking on her door at 8:00 a.m., as ordered. When there was no answer to his persistent knocking, he debated what to do. He gnawed at his bottom lip as his mind whirled. Should he let himself in? He had emergency keys. Would Harriet go ballistic if he just walked in? She might still be in bed. At the thought of an irate Harriet in her nightwear, Derek paled. Maybe he should come back later? As he dithered and prevaricated, fear rose to the surface. Concern over what Harriet would say if he didn’t get her blind fixed propelled him forward. Using his master key, he cautiously entered the apartment.
Leaving the door open in case he had to make a quick exit, Derek called, “Miss Bellingham? It’s Derek, Derek Lang. I’ve come to fix your blind. Miss Bellingham?” As the last notes of his voice were reclaimed by the silence, Derek moved farther into the apartment. Perhaps she’d gone out early, and if that were the case, she would want the offending blind mended and Derek gone well before she returned.
As Derek walked into the lounge, he blinked his eyes to adjust to the half-light. The blinds were closed tight against the morning sun, and it was difficult to make out much in the shadowed room. The air felt heavy and smelled slightly fetid as if the windows hadn’t been opened in a while. As his eyes became accustomed to the dark, he saw something out of place in the usually pristine apartment. One of the wooden dining chairs was upturned and lying against a low table, which was perched awkwardly on its side. Knowing the layout of the apartment, Derek reached out and felt along the wall nearest the door. His fingers fumbled around until he felt the cold metal of the light switch. A quick click and the room flooded with light.
As his eyes took in the scene in front of him, Derek’s recognition system faltered. His eyes were frantically sending a message his brain was neither expecting nor accepting.
Harriet lay on her back in the middle of the floor, her arms stretched out to the sides, and her legs bent awkwardly beneath her. Her head was turned to one side, the vivid red marks on her neck in stark contrast to the icy paleness of her skin. A splatter of bruises covered one cheek.
Derek stood in Harriet’s lounge and screamed like a teenaged girl, a fact he would later manfully deny.
CHAPTER TEN
Le Claire drove into a scene of mayhem. Police cars were scattered throughout the apartment complex’s parking area. A barrier had been set up blocking general access to the building, and the insubstantial yellow plastic cordon tape sagged and stuttered in the breeze; behind it ranged a group of people whose TV cameras marked them as media. Did nothing ever stay quiet on this island?
“Sir, over here.”
Dewar, an anxious look on her face, rushed over to him.
“What’s the score? Tell me what’s happened.”
“The caretaker, a Derek Lang, called it in. Apparently, he was almost incoherent on the call, and he’s no better now. He’s in the back of the ambulance having a lie-down. It’s brutal, sir—the victim was badly beaten.”
“Who’s in there now?”
“The crime scene guys have done the preliminary work, and Dr Viera is waiting for you so the body can be removed to the morgue.”
“Okay, let’s get on with it.”
The crime scene investigators were inspecting the lift area, so they climbed the two flights of stairs. A uniform stood on guard outside the open apartment door, standing stiffer and taller as Le Claire approached.
The place was swarming with police, apart from the living area where Dr Viera stood next to the body, his voice low as he recorded his initial impressions on his phone.
“Viera. You got here quick.”
“I was driving near here when I got the call. Bad business—really bad.” His voice was strained.
Viera was an utter professional but still young enough that he hadn’t faced many violent deaths in his line of work. His curling dark hair and swarthy complexion were matched with a build more suitable to a rugby player than one of the island’s finest medical experts. Dr David Viera was both.
“What have we got?”
“Female, mid-sixties. Blunt force trauma to the head and ligature marks around the neck, with severe bruising to the facial area. You’ll need to get a Home Office Pathologist involved for the autopsy, as we can safely say this wasn’t an accident. As they’ll have to be flown in from London, it will be at least tomorrow before they can get to work.”
Le Claire turned as Dewar walked into the room—he never once mistook
that heavy-footed gait. He spoke without turning around.
“Who was she? What have you found out?”
“I talked to the neighbours. Her name was Harriet Bellingham. She had lived here for about five years. She was divorced but had been seeing someone for a couple of years, a Ray Perkins. I didn’t get the feeling she was universally popular.”
“Whether she wins a popularity contest or not is immaterial. Who’s the next of kin?”
“You won’t believe this. My head is spinning. Apparently, the elder sister has just passed away. The neighbour says there are no other relatives in Jersey apart from a great-niece who has come from America to attend the funeral. The lady next door said she was a Grace Howard, and believed she was staying at the L’Horizon. The neighbour said Miss Bellingham had a moan about that in case it was being paid for by the estate.”
It took a moment for the name to sink in. Grace Howard. The deceased was, therefore, Kate Avery’s sister. Not for one second did he consider the deaths a coincidence. “I certainly wasn’t expecting that. At least we know where to reach Miss Howard.”
Le Claire noticed that Dewar’s face looked even grimmer than usual. “Sir, I’m afraid there is a problem. You better come with me.”
He followed Dewar into the hallway and through an open bedroom door. A man was sitting on the edge of the bed with a policeman hovering over him. The man’s face was flushed, and the red stain reached up and covered his bald head. His eyes were wild, and his breath was shallow and shaky. Le Claire looked to Dewar for an explanation.
“This is Ray Perkins, sir. Apparently, the caretaker called Mr Perkins before he made the 999 call. Mr Perkins was already here when the uniforms responded to the emergency call. He was in the room with the deceased.”
Le Claire heard what Dewar was saying and also what she didn’t voice. They had a contaminated crime scene.
◆◆◆
Le Claire parked up at the station. He had instructed Dewar to meet him here, and they would drive to their next appointment together. First, he had to speak to his boss and so went straight to the senior management floor.
Detective Superintendent Michael Fleming was in charge of Crime Services and was Le Claire’s immediate superior. In his late forties, he had a runner’s build, a receding hairline and uncompromising nature.
Le Claire entered the office after a perfunctory knock. “Sir, you’ll have seen my report on the death of Kate Avery. I was going to speak to you about it this morning. However, we’ve got another suspected murder. I’ve just come from the scene.” He quickly updated him with the main particulars.
Fleming’s face was grim, and his tone abrupt. “We have a situation. What is the world coming to when two elderly sisters die in suspicious circumstances within days of each other? I’m declaring you the SIO. Get an MIR set up and choose your team. You’ll have the set the budget for whatever you need but keep it tight.”
As the Senior Investigating Officer, Le Claire now had the authority to set up the Major Incident Room, second what manpower he felt necessary and give round-the-clock focus to solving, and closing, the murder enquiry.
It was a considerable amount of responsibility and the first real challenge he had been faced with since the London issue. “Thank you, sir, I appreciate your confidence in me.”
Fleming’s face was unsmiling. “Just make sure it’s not misplaced, Jack.”
◆◆◆
Grace Howard answered the door to Le Claire and Dewar and led the way to an upstairs lounge. “You’ve just caught me. We only returned home from town ten minutes ago.”
Le Claire realised the we referred to a middle-aged blonde woman who awaited them. He looked pointedly at her and Grace rushed to make the introduction.
“Oh, sorry, forgive me, this is Susannah Avery. Susanna is married to Kate’s nephew, Richard,”
Dewar ventured a brusque “hello,” the Scots burr evident in the monosyllabic greeting as Le Claire stepped forward and asked, “May we take this inside?”
The air turned heavy with an edge of tension—the police didn’t turn up without a good reason.
Grace’s hand hovered towards the sofas. “Please take a seat.”
Le Claire declined, and they remained standing as the two women sat next to each other on one of the long sofas.
Le Claire took a breath and kept it direct. “I am afraid I have some bad news. A woman was found dead this morning. Her next-of-kin was Kate Avery. I am sorry, but the woman was your great-aunt, Harriet Bellingham.”
Susannah Avery was the first to speak. “What? Harriet is dead? I don’t understand...”
Susannah’s voice trailed off as an ashen-faced Grace Howard quietly spoke, “This is shocking news. How did my aunt die? I had no idea she was ill.”
Le Clare ignored the question. “Did you know Miss Bellingham well?”
“No. In fact, we met for the first time at Aunt Kate’s funeral.” Realisation dawned. “God, who would believe it? Two sisters passing away within days of each other—and Harriet so much younger than Kate.”
“I’m afraid that Miss Bellingham didn’t pass away from natural causes. We have every reason to believe she was murdered.”
There was a shocked gasp from Susannah Avery. Grace Howard paled and swayed to the side. Dewar went into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. “Here. Sip some of this. It will make you feel better.”
She took the glass and pressed it to her lips, taking small sips of the cold water. She said, “Please forgive me. It is just such a shock. I didn’t know Harriet well. I believe she had been estranged from her sisters for some time—that would be my Great-Aunt Kate and my late grandmother.”
Le Claire nodded. “Well, if you are feeling up to it, we do have some questions.” He looked pointedly at Susannah Avery.
“Oh, yes, of course. I should leave you. Grace, I shall be in the garden if you need me.”
“Actually, if it is all right I would rather you stayed.”
Le Claire nodded his agreement. “That may actually save us some time.”
Dewar stepped forward. “When did you last see your Great-Aunt Harriet?”
“Yesterday. At a restaurant; I am afraid I don’t recall its name.”
“Bistro Blanc. It was Bistro Blanc,” interjected Susannah Avery.
Dewar continued, “Were you all there together?”
“No, but we did speak to Harriet—or rather, I should say she came to speak to us. I was with Susannah, her husband and Sam. I am afraid that Harriet was not at all happy when last we saw her. In fact, she was incredibly angry.”
Grace paused. The silence lengthened as Le Claire and Dewar patiently waited for her to carry on speaking. “Kate was a wealthy woman, and her estate was split equally between Sam and I. Harriet was not pleased. In fact, I believe her expectations of receiving an inheritance from Kate were quite high. She seemed very disappointed that she was not a beneficiary of the will.”
Le Claire considered her words. “When did Miss Bellingham first make these feelings known to you? At the restaurant?”
“No, it was after Aunt Kate’s funeral. Harriet was expecting the will to be read later that day. When I told her it had already been dealt with, she became enraged and went looking for Paul Armstrong. I told you before that he was Aunt Kate’s lawyer. They had words, and then Harriet left.”
“And you didn’t see her again until yesterday?” questioned Dewar.
“That’s right. Harriet approached our table and made a bit of a scene. She left the restaurant shortly afterwards.”
“Exactly what sort of scene did Miss Bellingham cause?”
“Nothing really, I guess. Harriet just let off some steam. She made the atmosphere rather uncomfortable.”
“In what way? What were her exact words?”
“I cannot recall verbatim. I was shocked at such a vulgar display, and it took me a moment to catch up with what Harriet was saying. The gist was that she wasn’t satisfied and was going t
o get some legal advice and block the estate while she sued for what she deemed to be her fair share.”
Dewar’s voice was even as she spoke, “That must have angered you, Miss Howard.”
“No, not anger exactly, just disappointment that Kate’s death was seen by her own sister as nothing more than an opportunity to get her hands on some cash. I don’t know Harriet’s circumstances, but surely she must have been desperate to take such a stance. I know the two weren’t close, and if Kate had wanted Harriet to benefit, she would have said so.”
Le Claire spoke up, “And what about you? Would it cause hardship for you if the estate was frozen until Miss Bellingham’s claim had been reviewed?”
Her response was laced with ice. “My father is one of New York’s foremost litigators. My mother is one of the East Coast Rotherams. Her family owns a chunk of New York State. I am also a lawyer. So no, the inheritance from Kate was neither needed nor looked for. However, as a lawyer, I uphold the right of the individual to dispose of their free property as they wish. I cannot see that Kate wished for Harriet to receive anything at all. Had the law decided otherwise, I would have conceded to any ruling.”
“As an upholder of the very law we speak of, I am sure you appreciate that a woman has been murdered. We must do all we can, follow every lead until the culprit has been apprehended. Let’s not forget that your Aunt Kate died in suspicious circumstances as well.”
Her shoulder’s slumped, and she briefly closed her eyes. “Of course, of course. Please accept my apologies if I seemed aggressive. You are right—my aunts are dead, and the important thing is to catch who did this to Harriet.” She gasped,, and her palm flew to cover her mouth. Her eyes widened, and he saw the moment the blinkers lifted. “Oh, my lord. They’ve both been killed. Who would do this? Who?” Her voice trailed off in a sob.
Blood In The Sand: Betrayal, lies, romance and murder. (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 6