He’d driven home to get showered and changed and hoped against all hope that neither of his parents was awake early. He thought he’d seen a shadow by their bedroom curtains as he drove up but cast the thought aside. He had more significant issues to deal with than his mother interrogating him about staying out all night.
He passed Dewar’s desk and was surprised to see that the surface was clear of papers and the usual general debris she surrounded herself with. He assumed she had got caught in the traffic as well.
Being late hadn’t prevented him from picking up a coffee from his favourite place, and he sat the untouched, steaming-hot cardboard cup on his desk. He had just slipped off his jacket and sat down, ready to take that first sip and feel the hit of caffeine, when his mobile rang. His hand reluctantly moved away from his coffee as he picked up his phone. This had better be good. “Le Claire.”
“Sir, it’s Dewar. I’m at the hospital. You have to get here as soon as possible. Luca De Freitas has regained consciousness, and you need to hear what he is saying.”
◆◆◆
Sam had lain awake most of the night, unable to quieten the intrusive thoughts. How many lies had his dad told over the years? Sam knew in his heart that his father had spoken the truth, and he had been having an affair with Emma for almost four years. Those business dinners that Sam wasn’t needed at—was that when he had seen her? What about the speculative trips to look at potential development sites—had he taken Emma with him?
Emma had always been a bitch, but this seemed too much, even for her. Had she been trying to get back at Sam in some way? She hadn’t even hinted at this the last time he had seen her. She deserved everything she got. The vehemence of the thought shocked him, but he realised he meant every word of it. The ringing of his mobile was a sharp reminder of the outside world.
He recognised the number, and his heart leapt in hope as he grabbed the phone.
“Graham. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon after France.”
“I thought I’d keep you updated. I had a word with my dad to see if he could help out with your financial issues.”
Sam waited with tightly held breath. “He’s interested in having a chat. But he’s just gone on holiday with Mum, and he has a golden rule that he doesn’t do any business when they’re away together. He’ll be back in ten days.”
Sam felt slightly sick as the tidal wave of emotions jostled against each other for supremacy. He had felt euphoric when he thought the answer to his problems was at hand, but seconds later had come crashing down. Two weeks was too long to wait. It would all be out by then, and once his desperation was known, he’d get pennies on the pound from any investor.
“Thanks for letting me know, Graham. I look forward to hearing from your dad. Take care.” As the call disconnected, Sam knew there was only one option left, and to hell with the consequences.
◆◆◆
Luca De Freitas did not look well. His face was as pale as the sheets that covered him and the wide bandage that encircled his head. However, he was awake and sitting up. That was good enough for Le Claire. “Mr de Freitas, I am DCI Le Claire. How are you feeling?”
De Freitas made to sit up, wincing as he was assisted by his wife into a more comfortable position. “Call me Luca. Actually, I don’t feel too bad. It only hurts when I move or talk or sit still.”
Le Claire’s laugh was genuine. “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humour. I don’t want to keep you too long.” This last comment won him a grateful look from Mrs de Freitas. “But I understand from my colleague that you have something of interest to tell me.”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s interesting or not, but it is what happened.”
Le Claire gestured for Dewar to sit in the empty plastic chair next to the bed while he leaned against the wall. “Start from why you were at Rocque View and just tell me what you can remember.”
Luca started to speak, but his voice was rasping, and he coughed a little. His wife carefully held a water glass to his lips. “Sorry, I feel a little croaky. Okay. I was worried about what was going on at Rocque View, and I just had to do something about it.”
Le Claire quickly interrupted. “What were you concerned about?”
“It was the footprints in the garden, the disturbed soil, trampled flowers in the borders. After what happened to Kate—Mrs Avery, that is—I was worried that something was going on. I think Sam was worried too.”
“Mr Avery never mentioned anything to us. I wonder why?” Le Claire glanced at Dewar, who gave an almost imperceptible nod of agreement. This was a point to consider when they took another look at Sam Avery.
Luca continued, “I spoke to Sam again on Saturday night. He said to leave it with him. I had dinner but couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. I decided to go and sit in the garden overnight and see if I could find out anything.”
At this, his wife stifled a sob, shaking her head as she tightened her hold on her husband’s hand. Her other hand lay in a fist on the bed, and the knuckles whitened as she fought to control herself. When she spoke, her voice was rusty and hoarse from a night of weeping. “Someone found you, more like, you old fool.”
Luca smiled and patted his wife’s hand. “There, there, love. Take it easy. I’m going to be okay.”
Le Claire cleared his throat as he brought matters back on track. “What happened, Luca? What did you see?”
“I waited a while, then I saw the lights in the house go off, and before I knew it, everything was silent. It stayed that way for a few hours. I almost fell asleep a couple of times, and then I saw movement coming round the far side of the house. The man—”
Dewar interrupted. “You’re sure it was a man? Would you recognise him again?”
Luca shook his head. “No, sorry. It was too dark, and he wore a cap pulled down over his face, but from the build, I am certain it was a man.”
“Good. Well done. Now, what happened before this man attacked you?”
“Oh, he wasn’t my attacker. That was the other man. At least I think it was a man.”
Le Claire and Dewar snapped to attention, senses on full alert. Dewar was the first to find her voice. “What other man?”
Le Claire laid a restraining hand on his colleague’s arm and spoke to Luca. “Take your time, but tell us exactly what happened.”
“Okay. The man I saw first walked across the lawn. He had a large bag over his shoulder, like a sports equipment bag, and he dropped it on the ground and took something out. Like a long stick. He turned and walked towards the petanque court and the herb beds, which meant he was out of sight, shielded by the side of the house. I went to follow and came out of the bushes. I was hurrying because I didn’t want to lose him. I heard a noise behind me and turned. Next thing I know, I’m on the ground with a throbbing head. I don’t remember anything else until I woke up in the hospital.” Luca raised the water glass to his lips, but his hand stopped in midair as he said, “Wait a minute. Did that bastard hit me with my own spade?”
Le Claire’s voice was sympathetic. “I’m afraid so. So you can’t recall anything else?”
“No, nothing. Well, apart from the noise, that is. There was a beeping noise that just kept getting louder and louder.” He paused, looked at the three people around the bed and said, a little shamefaced, “I guess it was just a ringing in my ears.”
Le Claire’s face was impassive, but his mind was whirring. “Thank you very much, Luca. We’ll get in touch if we have any further questions. I wish you a speedy recovery.”
Le Claire strode out of the hospital, Dewar snapping at his heels. “Sir, where are we going? What’s the hurry?”
“The hurry is that, at long last, we finally have a couple of pieces to put in the jigsaw puzzle. Let’s get back to the station. There are people I need to talk to.”
◆◆◆
“Good morning, Ray, and how do we find you this fine morning?”
“Keep it down, mate. I don’t need
you shouting at me.”
As Le Claire hadn’t raised his voice even a whisper above a normal tone, he knew the condition of Mr Ray Perkins. “Come on, Ray. I guess you’ve got a sore head this morning. No wonder. You were in a bit of a state last night.”
Ray’s eyes were slightly unfocused, but his temper was spot on. His face reddened and tightened as he raged. “Do you bloody blame me? My Harriet’s gone, and you lot aren’t doing anything to find the bastard who did it. In fact, you’re doing fuck all.”
Le Claire felt some grudging sympathy. Ray Perkins was a bit of a lowlife, but he had obviously loved Harriet Bellingham. “Ray, we’re doing all we can. It’s a complicated investigation.”
“Complicated? How is it complicated? A woman gets battered to death in her own home, and you can’t find out who did it. It’s an island. It’s not complicated. You lot are just incompetent.”
“You don’t appear to have a lot of regard for the police, Ray.”
A sly look skittered across Ray’s face. “I wouldn’t say that. More like I’m a concerned citizen and taxpayer wondering where my money’s going. As long as you do your job right, I’ve got no complaints.” The last was said with a magnanimous flourish.
“I’m glad to hear that. As I said, this is a complex situation. Where were you again on the night Harriet died?”
Ray’s gaze sharpened at the abrupt change of subject, and his reply was as sharp as his look was black. “Don’t be an arse. I wouldn’t have harmed a hair on Harriet’s head. You should be trying to catch the bastard who did this, not hounding me.”
“That I am, Ray, that I am. And on that subject, where were you on the night of the fourth of this month? The night Kate Avery died.”
“What? I was with Harriet. Got takeaway and stayed at hers that night.”
“And last Thursday night? Going into the early hours of Friday morning. Where were you then, Ray?”
Ray threw back his head and laughed. “You’re clutching at straws now, mate. That’s the night the little estate agent died?” At Le Claire’s nod, Ray’s grin grew wider. “You’re out of luck. I had a few too many and ended up at my mate’s place. Crashed out on his sofa and got a rude awakening from his wife as she was going out on her early shift. She left the house around 6:30 a.m. Just after giving me a cup of tea and a bollocking.”
Le Claire couldn’t help his disappointment. He had a feeling about Ray Perkins. “We’ll need your friend’s name, address and contact details.”
“Be delighted, but you’re barking up the wrong tree if you believe these deaths are connected.”
“Let’s leave that to me. By the way, what brought you to Jersey?”
Ray snorted. “Ah. Giving me the old outsider business? Maybe I am, but I’ve paid my dues. Stayed here for a bit in the early 90s and then came back permanent a few years ago.”
“Why was that?”
“What can I say—sun, sea, sand and a bit of the other. But what I’m wondering right now is what made you come back to Jersey. The local boy leaves the Met, comes home from London. You were a talking point in the pubs. As I heard it, your old man had you down as being in line for some top job in London. Yet here you are, a little rich boy playing at cops and robbers in this backwater. I suppose you’ll be running the force here one day, especially with Daddy’s connections. That why you come back or was your tail between your legs?”
A muscle worked in Le Claire’s jaw as he held himself in check. He kept his voice mild and even. “That’s enough, Ray. Remember, it’s me who asks the questions. But that will do for today. Give your friend’s details to the constable who comes to do your release, and we’ll take it from there.”
Le Claire put Ray out of his mind. Now he had to see if a night in the cells had loosened Richard Avery’s tongue.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Dewar was pacing the floor in front of a closed door, her face puckered in a frown. She turned at the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall.
“Sir, I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve got Richard Avery in here, as requested.”
“Thanks, Dewar. Why the long face?”
If anything, she began to look even more belligerent. “I can’t stop thinking what a bastard this guy is. He comes across as Mr Charming, loving to his wife and family, yet he’d been blatantly lying to them for years. Is no one ever safe?”
Le Claire didn’t know Dewar’s history, but her vehemence came from somewhere. However, that was neither his interest nor concern. “In our jobs, we don’t usually mix with the innocent. The last time I looked, being a miserable, cheating, lying bastard wasn’t a criminal offence. Shall we?”
As he opened the interview room door, a chastened Dewar stepped in first. She still didn’t look happy, though. Le Claire followed. “Good morning, Mr Avery. I trust you slept well.” Le Claire’s tongue was firmly in his cheek. Richard Avery presented a very different image this morning. Unshaven and with tousled hair, he held himself awkwardly. No doubt a night in a police cell instead of on a comfortable divan had played havoc with his back. He was slumped at the table and didn’t make the slightest effort to stand in front of Dewar and make a show of his chivalry. Le Claire suppressed a smile. Manners may maketh the man, but baser attitudes were laid bare by adversity.
Avery responded in a clipped tone. “Slept well? Hardly. You can be assured that I will be taking your treatment of me further. I personally know the bailiff, the governor and your father.”
“I am afraid the first two wouldn’t interfere, and the latter doesn’t influence me.”
Avery shook his head slowly from side to side as he briefly closed his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was softer, gentler, as he held out his hands, palms facing upwards, and appealed to Le Claire. “I am an innocent man.”
Dewar snorted, and Avery aimed a vicious look at her.
“Apologies, sir, a cough came out the wrong way.”
Le Claire ignored his colleague. He didn’t give a damn how many women Richard Avery slept with; he was more concerned about whether the man was capable of murder. “You said you were at home with your wife on the night Emma Layzell died.” At the nod of confirmation, Le Claire continued, “Where were you on the Sunday evening that Harriet Bellingham died?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, this is ridiculous. I have an affair with someone who ends up dead, and now I’m on the hook for every unsolved case on your books?”
Avery leaned back in his chair and, with head thrown back, closed his eyes and exhaled, long and slow. He brought his head up to face Le Claire and answered. “I was at lunch with my wife, Sam and Grace Howard. We all had a few drinks, and I organised for a driver to come and collect us. Susannah and I went home.”
Dewar flicked a glance at Le Claire before she spoke. “So your wife is your only alibi yet again?”
“Yes, but as I didn’t kill anyone, I omitted to make sure I had a cast-iron alibi in place.”
“And on the night Kate Avery died. Where were you then?”
“What! This is ridiculous. You cannot, for even one second, think I could have killed Kate.”
“Answer the question, please.”
Avery sighed, and his gaze was direct and unflinching. “Emma. I was at Emma’s. Susannah thought I was at a Rotary dinner, so I didn’t get home until past midnight.”
Le Claire smiled. “So you have no real alibi, then.” He turned to his colleague. “Dewar, as you very kindly refused to press charges against Mr Avery for assaulting an officer, please arrange for him to be released. Mr Avery, I will no doubt be speaking to you again. Please don’t make any plans to leave the island.”
◆◆◆
As Le Claire ambled back to his office. He thought of the way Richard Avery had looked at Dewar when her pretend cough had interrupted his innocence plea. There had been a hint of menace in that glance, and Le Claire couldn’t tell if it was because of the circumstances and the man was just at the end of his tether, or if it was something more—a glimpse in
to his real character. Whatever it was, Richard Avery bore watching.
◆◆◆
After clearing his emails, Le Claire badly needed a hit of caffeine and some fresh air. He was making his way out of the building when his attention was drawn to the reception area. Ray Perkins drew a few looks as he stood by the main desk, for he smelled as bad as he looked. The lukewarm shower he had suffered earlier hadn’t removed the rancid smell of sour beer seeping from his pores, which mingled with the stale cigarette smoke stubbornly clinging to his rumpled clothes.
He had been formally released without charges; the man he had been fighting with apparently having disappeared into the night. Although free to leave, Ray stood under the watchful eye of the desk sergeant as he painstakingly checked his returned loose change, coin by coin. A banging door, accompanied by raised voices, had him turning towards the source of the disturbance.
Dewar was escorting Richard Avery out of the building. Le Claire could clearly hear Avery’s complaining monologue; his voice was even, but twin spots of colour darkened his cheeks and betrayed his anger. “Don’t think I won’t take this further, because I will. Your people will hear more about how appallingly I’ve been treated. Keeping me in the cells was uncalled for. How you can even think to question me about Kate and Harriet, I don’t know—”
At that, a raw roar erupted, and Ray Perkins came charging towards them like a raging bull, his face a deep, dark red, contorted into a mask of fury. “You did for my Harriet, you bastard.” Ray leapt forward and punched Richard Avery, catching him on his jaw. His aim was true, and his fist solid. Avery cried out in surprise and stumbled backwards, losing his feet and landing on his backside in an ungainly heap.
The reception area was in chaos. Dewar, with the help of a burly constable, pinned Ray against a wall. Another policeman solicitously helped Avery to his feet, but as soon as he was up, he angrily brushed away his helper’s hands. “I’m fine. Leave me alone.” Rubbing his jaw, he looked towards the restrained Ray. “Don’t tar me with the brush of your criminal tendencies. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers. I’ll be pressing charges, but not today. Right now, all I want is to get away from the whole damned lot of you.” With that, he walked out the door.
Blood In The Sand: Betrayal, lies, romance and murder. (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 21