Le Claire ignored the irreverent remark and forged ahead with his own agenda. “Tell me about Kate Avery. How long had she lived at Rocque View?”
“Oh, years and years, probably about twenty-five. I remember when they bought it. The seller was desperate—a young widow. I think she had a child. Samuel could have offered her virtually anything, and she’d have bitten his hand off, but he was a man of honour. He gave her a fair price, and the deal was done. Samuel got his one true passion in life—after Kate, that is.”
Dewar smiled. “His passion? That sounds dramatic.”
“Not dramatic, just how it was. He loved that place, did most of the work on it himself. He changed or updated everything he was allowed to. Some things couldn’t be changed under the covenants on the deed. The island is an absolute nightmare for archaic laws and obscure restrictions.”
Le Claire pulled the discussion back on track. “And what about Emma Layzell? You said she was hounding Kate Avery to sell the place. Who was the buyer?”
“No idea. I never spoke to the girl myself. Mind you, she wasn’t giving up. Even wrote to me as the executor, said there was an increased offer on the table. Before that, she contacted Kate directly, just turned up at the house one day. Said she had a firm offer to buy the place. Kate said she didn’t want to sell and kept repeating that she wasn’t interested every time that girl hounded her. For that is what she did. Telephoning, turning up at the door, delivering flowers with a note about the offer—the offer that kept increasing. I did say to Kate that maybe she should consider it, but Kate ended up having a bit of a to-do with the estate agent. Seemed she just lost it and shouted that the only way she’d be leaving Rocque View would be feet first in a coffin.”
“And that’s exactly what happened.” Le Claire’s comment hung suspended in the air. “We’re going to find who did this—who did all of this.”
“You really think the murders are connected?”
Le Claire smiled and stood. “I didn’t say that, Mr Armstrong. At the moment, I am keeping an open mind, but I would like to know a bit more about Rocque View. The names of past owners would be helpful, in case they can shed any light on the property, and also maybe how much it changed hands for last time and anything that seems even a little out of the ordinary. I assume it will be quicker for you to check the ownership chain in your files rather than us ploughing through the public records.”
Paul Armstrong mumbled something as he rose and followed Le Claire and Dewar back to the reception desk. To Le Claire’s ear, it sounded like the lawyer was saying, “Bloody fool’s errand, does he think I’ve got nothing better to do?”
Le Claire and Dewar made their way back to their car, which was parked across the road from Paul Armstrong’s office. Le Claire was contemplative and distant.
They drove in silence back to the station. As Dewar parked, Le Claire finally spoke up. “That house, Rocque View, it has to be connected somehow, even if only incidentally. Come on, let’s go there now. I have an idea.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Sam had just arrived home from work and was climbing out of his car when he saw Le Claire and Dewar drive up. He had gone into the office, but his mind hadn’t been on the emails piled up in his in-box. However, he had accomplished something in that he had finalised the plans for his future. Nothing could stop him now. The sun was in his eyes as he looked at the approaching car, and he held his hand to his brow to lessen the glare. He hadn’t recognised them at first, and as the car drew to a halt, Sam’s jaw tightened as he realised who his visitors were.
“I’d say this was a surprise, but then again, you seem to spend more time harassing my family than catching actual criminals.”
Le Claire approached Sam, his face was impassive. “Mr Avery, we have something important to discuss with you. Is Miss Howard around?”
For a moment, Sam kept up his aggressive stance, then his features relaxed, and he motioned for them to follow him into the house. “I don’t know if Grace is in, but I would assume she is.”
Grace was indeed at home and came running downstairs in response to Sam’s called request for her presence in the lounge. “The police have something to discuss with us.”
Grace looked at Le Claire, and hope shone out of her eyes as she fired questions at him. “You have news? Have you found who murdered Kate? What about Harriet and Emma?”
“I’m afraid we haven’t arrested anyone yet. But we would like to have some men keep an eye on the house and gardens.”
Sam was quick to question. “What do you mean? How exactly will they keep an eye on us, and what is the point?”
“Mr Avery, I said my men will keep an eye on the house and its gardens, not on you. As to how, I will have the men positioned around the perimeter, within the bushes, and as to what the point is? Well, let’s just say that your gardener has made me want to clear something in my mind. You could say that I want to rule out that this house is somehow at the heart of this case.”
Grace slowly shook her head. “I’m sure I don’t understand what you’re getting at, but you’re the expert, not us. When should we expect your men?”
“Not tonight. I’ve only just decided on this course of action, so I’m afraid I’ll need a day to get everything in order. The team will be here tomorrow night, once it’s fully dark.”
A slow shake of his head emphasised Sam’s disbelief. “Well, thanks for letting us know, but what you hope to find skulking in the gardens, I do not know. Some louts attack Luca, and you try and tie this in with Kate’s death?”
“We have to take any information into account, Mr Avery, and don’t forget that we don’t know who attacked Luca de Freitas. You do want us to catch the culprit, don’t you?”
“Of course I do, and you must do whatever you think is right. However, I can’t see why a murderer would be skulking in the garden.”
“We will catch whoever has done this, Mr Avery. You can trust me on that.”
After the police left, Sam wrapped a consoling arm around Grace. “Would you rather not stay here? You could pack some things and go to my flat. I’d feel better if you were away from here—and safe.”
“No Sam. I want to see this through to the end. I’m staying.”
◆◆◆
Dewar was quiet until they were in the car and heading back to the station. “I don’t understand why we told them we were going to mount a watch in the gardens but that we’d be starting tomorrow night. Why tell anyone in advance? We could easily divert some of the guys from their work in the incident room and start tonight.”
“We are starting the watch tonight. However, if it’s thought that we’ll start tomorrow, then tonight is the perfect opportunity for anyone who is up to no-good at Rocque View to get it over and done with before the place is teeming with police. Sam Avery knows about it, and I’m sure he’ll tell his father. And don’t forget that Ray Perkins thinks we’re going to stop him leaving the island from tomorrow. If I were him, I’d do whatever I had to do and be gone on the morning boat. If it’s one of them or a combination, we’ll get them tonight, either for murder or for whatever else they’re up to.”
Dewar’s face lit with appreciation and a tiny bit of awe. “Ah, that is cunning. But you said a combination?”
“Yes. I don’t think that Luca was necessarily attacked by the same garden intruder he was following. We could be looking for two separate men, and one was looking out for the other. Or maybe not; perhaps it is just one man, but we can’t ignore the possibility.”
Dewar let out a low whistle. “That opens up the field. I mean, if there are two of them, then we need to look at all of the alibis all over again.”
“Then that will keep you and the team busy for the next couple of hours while I sort out some helpers for tonight.”
◆◆◆
Several hours later and Le Claire had everything pretty much organised. He had roped in a couple of experienced Authorised Firearms Officers from the incident team who knew how to sit
through a stakeout and had the physical capacity to handle whatever came their way. All they had to do now was wait. He was convinced that they would, at the very least, find out who Luca’s attacker was. Le Claire knew that there was every possibility that he had gone off on a tangent, and none of this could have anything to do with the murders. He hoped that was not the case. His gut had only let him down once before. Neither he nor his career could take that again.
The ringing of the telephone broke into his reverie. He was surprised when he heard who the caller was. “Mr Armstrong. What can I do for you?”
“I think it’s more what I can do for you. I was intrigued after your visit this morning. The more I think of it, there is a connection to Rocque View with all three murders. Kate owned and adored the place, Harriet coveted it and was convinced it would be hers one day, and Emma Layzell had a solid buyer lined up, who I understand was pretty desperate to get their hands on the place. Not that I blame them, of course, it’s a quite unique property. But I digress. I had a look at the history of the place. All pretty much as I remembered. Samuel and Kate bought the house from a young widow, and she had taken ownership four years previously. What I hadn’t remembered before was that the covenants weren’t longstanding but had been put in place by the woman herself. She actually had the deeds amended to say she didn’t want certain areas ever changed by subsequent owners: the drive, the petanque court and the pool area. They had to stay exactly as they were. Samuel would have liked to have moved the drive to a more central position, but it wasn’t the end of the world.”
Le Claire was half-listening as he typed an email to the night’s team, laying out instructions for the initial briefing meeting.
Paul Armstrong continued, “Anyway, you said you wanted names. Samuel and Kate bought the property from a Karen Perkins. The deeds were only ever in her name, but her husband must have been alive when she bought the place, as she was described as the wife, not the widow, of a Jim Perkins. Bit archaic to describe ladies by reference to their marital status, but that is how it was then.”
Le Claire snapped to attention, his email forgotten. “Thank you, Mr Armstrong. That is very helpful, very helpful indeed.”
Le Claire hung up the phone and called out for Dewar. “Something’s turned up which could be purely coincidental, but it needs to be looked at urgently, even if just to clear the point as irrelevant. The owner of Rocque View before Kate Avery and her late husband was a Karen Perkins—the wife of a Jim Perkins. Wasn’t that the name of Ray Perkins’s father?”
“Yes, it was. We’ve got him now, sir.”
“We don’t know anything yet, but it’s a lead to follow. Go and find out all you can about Jim Perkins, especially whether he had a connection to Jersey and was indeed married to the previous owner of Rocque View.”
As Dewar hurried out, Le Claire quietly muttered, “It’s that damned house again!”
◆◆◆
He sat in silence, staring at the telephone on the table. He knew time was running out but, strangely, simply felt a sense of calm. When there’s nowhere else to run, the path ahead is easy to follow, he thought. It had to be tonight, for tomorrow would be too late. He had to be positive and act for what was rightfully his—theirs, he hastily amended. And then the devil on his shoulder whispered its insidious poison. Did he really have to share? He was the one who had done the most to achieve this. He’d worked out the plan, made the introductions and had the balls to fix it when it looked like it was all going wrong. He checked his watch. He better get ready.
He dialled the number, and the call was answered almost immediately. He spoke in a rush. “I’ll have what you want tonight, but I’m going to have to go away afterwards. I won’t have time to turn it into cash.”
The rough voice on the other end of the line was suspicious. “What are you going to give me? I want to be paid in full, and I like cash money.”
“You’ll get something worth twenty times what my debt is. Yes, you’ll have to sell it—and discreetly—but you’ll still end up with a hell of a lot more than I owe.”
There was silence on the other end of the line, and that’s when he knew he had him—if not, there would have been immediate threats.
“All right, but I want it all settled by first thing tomorrow morning, so you better get around here at first light.”
He laughed. “I’m off on a journey tonight, so I’ll drop it by the club later. Don’t worry. In the morning, you’ll be all paid up.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Sam leaned on the kitchen counter, his phone to his ear as he stared out towards the sea and listened to the strident ring tone. When the call was answered, his voice was gentle as he asked, “How are you, Mum? Is Dad back yet?”
He heard his mother let out a long sigh and could almost visualise her struggling to keep everything together as she spoke. “We’re okay, Sam, don’t worry. It will be fine.”
He knew his mother had gone into automatic parent mode, putting Sam and his reassurance first. Right now, he was more anxious about his parents. “I know you’re putting a brave face on it, but you know I’m there for you when you want to talk, really talk about—”
Susannah abruptly cut over Sam, blocking out what he was going to say. “Sorry I didn’t call you back earlier. We got your message. Here’s your dad.”
The low rumbling of voices, his mother calling his father, reminded Sam of a thousand times he’d called them previously, but now there was a new distance that resonated through the line.
“How are you, Dad? What’s happening with the police?”
“I’m as good as can be expected after what has to rank as the worst experience of my life. Those bloody fools at the police station apparently think I’m involved in the murders. Idiots. They should be trying to catch the real culprits.”
Sam’s voice was weary. “They are, Dad, they are.”
His father’s response was quick and aggressive. “Really, Sam? Then what are they doing keeping me in one of their cells overnight? Some trumped-up charge about assaulting an officer. Ridiculous.”
Sam knew his father well in this mood—pugnacious and complaining. His mother had also borne the brunt of his father’s tirades. Sam wondered how his father had been with Emma Layzell. Had he been softer, kinder with her? That brought him to the main point of his call. “What about Emma? You were having an affair with her, weren’t you?”
He heard his father draw in a quick, jerking breath, and when he spoke, the bluster had left him. “Sam, I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Your mother, well, she isn’t always easy.”
Sam’s voice rose. “For Christ’s sake, Dad, I don’t want to hear your lame excuses. But I guess your apology answers the original question. How could you do this to Mum? How could you do this to the business? This is why you’ve been so distracted, so off your game that you’ve barely tried to find another investor. You know how important this deal is. I’ve gone over the figures, Dad—it’s the difference between us being one step away from disaster or making enough money to have a substantial cushion in the company for future deals. You’ve bigged it up over the investor pulling out. You’ve even had me repeating like a mantra that we simply don’t mix our personal funds with the company, but we both know neither of us has the money to do that in any event.”
“Sam, you know it cost a fortune to buy Kate’s share of the business when she inherited from Samuel. I’d lived under my uncle’s and my father’s shadows long enough. I just wanted to be my own man and follow my own path.”
“You’ve certainly done that. But it’s my turn now. I’ve got a plan, and I know you don’t like it, but we have to do it anyway. I think you’ve lost the moral high ground in any event.”
“I know, truly, I do. But it was hard juggling them both. Trying to keep two women happy isn’t easy—and then to be suspected of murder by those plodding buffoons is a nightmare. They don’t have any real clues, and at this rate, they won’t catch anyone at all.”
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Sam felt a hot blast of rage at his father’s dismissive attitude towards his mother. He let out a slow breath to calm himself. He didn’t want to anger his father—it would be his mother that paid for it when the call was over.
“They’re doing all they can, even putting a watch on the house.”
Richard snorted in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous. Why would they think any of this has anything to do with a house? They’re clutching at straws. When do they start this madness?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Well, they better get it right because I’m just about ready to make an official complaint of their handling of the entire case.”
Sam’s sigh was heartfelt, and his voice impatient. “Dad, don’t you think we’ve got enough to worry about at the moment?”
◆◆◆
Richard stood in the conservatory doorway, watching his wife as she sat on one of the aged but comfortable couches. There was a half-full glass of whisky in his hand, and he drained the contents in one gulp. Strengthening his resolve, he called out her name.
“Oh, there you are darling. I’ve just been looking at the diary. We’re out with Richard and Barbara tomorrow night. I hope they don’t insist on paying again—it gets embarrassing.”
Richard tried to interrupt, “Susannah...” But she carried on as if she hadn’t heard him.
“I know they’re seriously loaded, but we must treat them, don’t you agree? I’ll take some champagne as well. We’re having drinks at theirs before the restaurant.”
“Susannah!” Richard’s voice had risen, but Susannah ignored him again. Her hands rested in her lap, holding an open diary, the whitening knuckles betraying how tightly she was fighting for control.
Blood In The Sand: Betrayal, lies, romance and murder. (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 23