Blood Rights (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 7

  There was silence for a moment, before Rudy said, “Aunt Sara, Dad enjoyed many happy times with Uncle Jan at both those houses. I wish you many happy years of using them. Ian, you’d been with Dad for a long time, and he trusted you. It’s only fitting he remembered you.”

  Balfour carried on, carefully scanning the papers he held. “Next is a bequest to Susan Jones, of the entirety of the shares in SK Holding Limited, a private investment company.”

  Susan’s mouth dropped open. “I never expected that. How kind. I set that company up years ago for Kurt. I oversaw making speculative, long-term investments.” She turned to Rudy and Nils. “It’s not worth a lot now. The investments are a long-term play, but it was so kind of your father.”

  Balfour coughed to clear his throat and continued. “I’ll read the next part out exactly as it is written: To my ex-wife, Eva Englebrook, I leave what she is due by right, being the entirety of my art collection, free and clear to do with as she so wishes.”

  The gasps were audible and loud. Nils’s eyes widened, and a tic worked at the side of his mouth as he looked at his mother. “What the hell? Why would Dad leave you the collection? It’s worth a bloody fortune.”

  Eva smiled and didn’t look in the least surprised at her good fortune. “Your father and I had a particular divorce settlement. I let him keep the entirety of the business and this house, in return for a guarantee that when he died, I would get the art collection. I started it, I built it, and I didn’t want it going to any grubby little chancer. That art collection was also my price for not kicking up a fuss and agreeing to a divorce so Kurt could be free to marry his mistress.” She shot a look at Jessica that was pure malice. Jessica glared back. Eva placed a hand on Rudy’s forearm. “Your father was older than me, but I didn’t expect to inherit this soon.”

  Nils’s mouth gaped open, and then he snapped it shut. He looked at Rudy. “Our share keeps getting smaller. I can’t believe Dad never told us about this.”

  Rudy stood, his face set in grim lines, and walked over to Balfour. “Thank you. May I offer you a drink?”

  Balfour’s smile faltered. “I’m afraid I haven’t finished. Would you mind retaking your seat?”

  Rudy frowned but did as he was bid. Le Claire glanced at Dewar, whose look of anticipation must match his own. This was getting interesting.

  “I also leave the manor and its furnishings to my ex-wife, Eva. She chose this property and turned it into a beautiful home. I did not treat Eva well, and this is my apology.”

  Jessica jumped to her feet. “What the hell? This is my home.”

  Eva muttered under her breath, “Now you see how it feels?”

  Balfour held up a hand for silence. “That deals with the manor and the surrounding gardens. However, I have discovered that the woodland, meadows, tower and the area adjacent to the beach were packaged under separate titles and recently gifted to SK Holdings Limited. We have just heard that the company is now owned by Susan Jones.”

  Nils asked, “But what does that mean?”

  “Indirectly, the land is owned by Susan Jones.”

  Rudy jumped to his feet, as did Nils, their faces twinned in evident dismay. “No, that’s outrageous. We’ll contest the will. He can’t do that. He can’t.”

  Balfour’s voice was dry. “I’m afraid he did.” He turned to Armstrong. “I believe all is in order under Jersey law?”

  Armstrong nodded. “Yes. Those due a set entitlement have been dealt with appropriately.”

  Rudy’s face shone purple, and a tic worked at the corner of his eye. “But the land is valuable.”

  Balfour said, “Not if the right of way is in place.”

  Rudy shook his head in apparent denial. “My father won the case, and we will win the appeal.”

  Armstrong coughed. “But the fight is not yours, I’m afraid. It will be down to Mrs Jones, as the owner of the company, to determine if she wishes to fight the appeal. Kurt was the sole director of the company. It will be up to Mrs Jones, as the owner of the shares, to nominate a new director.”

  Nils faced Susan. “What did you have over him? Why would Dad do this? He loved this estate. Why the hell would he break it up and leave the land to you?” His voice ended on a sneer, and the words were laced with insult, but Susan didn’t rise to the bait.

  Her face was pale, her eyes wide. “I wasn’t expecting this. I’m shocked. I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to say.” Her voice was a whisper.

  Rudy rounded on Balfour. “How the hell could you let Dad do this? You knew his plans for that land. This way it’s out of the family, and Riley Jones will get his hands on it. It’ll be a bloody hippie free-for-all within days.”

  Jessica pushed herself out of her chair. She stumbled and righted herself before crossing to face Eva. Her face was red and pinched. “You bitch. I’d say you must’ve been shagging Kurt, but he never made the same mistake twice. I’m almost glad Susan, who we all know I can’t stand, got the land. It devalues the house. Ha bloody ha. And we both know what you’ve been up to, don’t we?”

  “Shut up and sit down. You’ve been drinking.”

  “Maybe I have. But you’re no stranger to a few glasses of something. I saw you, you know. In London last week.”

  Eva raised her chin, her eyes hard, glittering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you should go and have a lie-down.”

  “I bet you had a bit of a lie-down after I saw you.” She spun around and pointed at Richard Grainger. “With him. The two of you were in some shitty-looking little Italian restaurant near St Christopher’s Place. My taxi stopped outside, stuck in traffic. I know it was you. You were wearing that tarty black dress of yours that you wore to Angela’s last exhibition at the gallery. I told Kurt. He laughed it off and said I was wrong. But I’m not, am I?”

  “I don’t answer to you, but Richard and I both happened to be in London at the same time and met for a meal. I fail to see what is wrong with that. You’re not going to get a rise out of me, so don’t even try.” Her look was dismissive.

  Jessica turned on Grainger next. “I thought better of you, I really did.” Jessica barked out a patently fake laugh, then turned to Susan. “I wonder what you did to be rewarded so well. I always knew you couldn’t be trusted. Were you screwing my husband? Bitch.” Jessica drew back her hand and aimed a furious slap at Susan. The latter stepped to the side, easily avoiding the attack. Chloe jumped to her sister’s aid and placed her arms around Jessica. Grainger stood as if to assist, but Chloe brushed him away with a dismissive wave of her hand. Jessica’s sobbing could be heard as Chloe led her from the room.

  Eva looked at Rudy. “Get me a drink, darling. I’ll have a gin.” She pointed at the empty tumbler Jessica had left on the table. “If Jess has left any, that is.” She smirked and fumbled in her cavernous bag, pulling out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

  Nils tried to grab the packet from her hand, but she held it aloft. “Mum, you know you can’t smoke in the house.”

  She laughed, held a cigarette to her mouth and lit it with a practised flick. She enjoyed a long, slow drag, her eyes half-closed, as she puffed out a breath of acrid smoke. Le Claire’s nostrils twitched, and he couldn’t help the pang of longing for a long-gone pleasure. He’d been a teenage smoker, more to fit in and annoy his parents than anything else.

  Nils’s face darkened as he flung open the French windows that led to the terraces. “At least come over here. We don’t want to die from secondary smoke.”

  Eva lifted a mocking brow. “Ah, and you’re so careful with what you ingest, aren’t you, my darling?”

  Nils’s hands clenched into fists. The more Le Claire saw of this family, the more apparent their toxic relationship became. He made a mental note to follow up on that comment; sounded like drug issues.

  Rudy said, “Thank you, everyone, for attending. If you would like to have a drink and something light to eat, we have set up arrangements in the conservatory. Balfour, we need to speak.
In private.”

  Balfour held up a hand, “There is one final matter. You must understand that my client wrote his own will and simply used me to confirm its legality. I therefore neither agree with nor condone the contents.” He turned to Richard Grainger. “These were the words Kurt wrote that concern you directly. To Richard, I bequeath you the knowledge that I am aware of all you are and what you have done. You have taken enough that belonged to me. I, therefore, leave you the remainder of your retainer for this year, plus my sincerest hope that you fail at everything you attempt. I am a man of his word, even if you are not.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Mr Grainger, I’m DCI Le Claire, and this is DS Dewar. May I ask what that was about?” That had indeed been a closing comment and a half. Richard Grainger had darkened at the enquiring looks and stormed out of the room. Le Claire followed.

  Grainger ran a hand through his thick, greying hair. “What a mess. Look, can we talk outside? These walls definitely have ears.”

  It was a warm day; summer was cocking a thumb and holding autumn at bay. They crossed the terrace and descended to a small courtyard.

  Grainger looked out to the lawns and formal gardens and said, “I actually helped him design these. Seems like a lifetime ago.” He sighed. “Kurt employed me on an annual fee over twenty years ago to maintain the collection and oversee it.”

  Dewar frowned. “What does that entail?”

  “Usually, quite a lot. You would organise purchases, maintain provenance records, deal with the maintenance and upkeep of the paintings and, for a collection of this size, loan it out to museums and galleries. Some people love knowing their name is on an art collection that hordes go to see.”

  Le Claire asked, “So what did you do?”

  “I verified provenance and maintained the records, and that was it. Kurt barely bought anything new in a decade. In lots of ways, he didn’t need to. His collection contained modern masterpieces and valuable classics. The collection was eclectic and separated into many sub-collections of style, era and artist.”

  “You didn’t maintain the art or arrange for it to be put on loan?”

  “No. Kurt may have inferred I was lazy, but the fact is that I run my own gallery in London, which keeps me busy. Every few years Kurt had the upkeep of the paintings dealt with by a specialist UK-based company, and he never loaned anything out. As I mentioned, he rarely bought anything new.”

  That threw Le Claire. “I thought he was a big collector. He is certainly eminent in the Jersey art scene.” His own mother raved about the times that Kurt Englebrook either spoke about his collection to their WI meetings or attended the open events of the amateur art society she belonged to.

  “Perhaps, but the fool had no eye for art. You know, it really is fitting. Eva was the brains behind the entire collection. She should have it all.”

  “His ex-wife was the collector?”

  “Yes, she is a sought-after art adviser. She is a painter as well and frequently displays locally. Kurt was always a forward-thinker, and I believe they had a strong prenup that was mirrored in the divorce agreement. Under their divorce settlement, Kurt had to leave the collection to Eva.”

  Dewar slipped in a comment. “You know a lot about their arrangements.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve known Kurt for a long time.”

  “And Eva Englebrook. What is your relationship?”

  He paused. “Eva and I have known each other for years. Jessica has a poisonous mind and a dangerous tongue.”

  “Your relationship with Mr Englebrook appeared strained from the comments in the will. And Mrs Englebrook said she’d told her husband what she had seen.”

  “There was nothing for her to report back on.”

  “Report back on? Kurt Englebrook and his first wife divorced a decade ago. Why would he care?”

  “Indeed. He wouldn’t.”

  “Kurt Englebrook alluded that you had taken enough of his after all. What do you suppose he meant?”

  “It was hard to decipher how Kurt’s mind worked.” The dry, laconic retort grated.

  “Why don’t you try?”

  “I know that Kurt’s death is suspicious, but I had nothing to do with it.”

  “I didn’t suggest you did. I do find it a little odd that you knew that his ex-wife would receive the art collection, but his sons had no idea.”

  “You’ll need to ask Eva about that. Who she may have told, or not, is none of my business.”

  “Is the collection valuable?”

  “You could say that. There are some good names in the collection. Several of the contemporary artists have also died over the years so that obviously increases the value as that artist then has a finite amount of work to their name. Eva chose the pieces exceptionally well when she started collecting. Even the more expensive works, some by the masters, have increased substantially in value.”

  “Can you put a number on the collection?”

  “Values are subjective; they’re based on so many different factors. As to an overall figure? I couldn’t say.”

  Le Claire dampened his irritation. “I think you could.” He stared in what he hoped was an officially intimidating way.

  Grainger huffed out a clearly offended breath. “Follow me.”

  They rounded the side of the house, crossing the lawns to a one-storey building, long and low, its weathered, wooden-clad walls blending into the surrounding trees and foliage. The windows were long slits of what looked like toughened glass. Grainger tapped a code into a concealed keypad, and a hidden door slid open. As they followed him, a bank of lights automatically switched on, illuminating the expansive area.

  Le Claire whistled. “This is a serious setup.”

  Paintings covered every inch of wall space from floor to double-height ceiling. Many were encased in glass boxes. Modern art was juxtaposed with classical still-lifes and modernist and cubist delights. Le Claire didn’t care much about art, but his mother had dragged him around various galleries and exhibitions in his youth, and some of it had stuck. He stopped in front of a brightly coloured painting and said, “Tell me this isn’t a genuine Picasso?”

  Grainger laughed. “It’s the real thing. And over there is a Monet, and that is a Francis Bacon. There are also some good pieces by living painters that should dramatically rise in value over the next decade or so.”

  Dewar said, “And the ex-wife gets the lot.”

  Grainger stiffened. “Eva collected most of it in the first place. And the boys won’t be left badly off. Englebrook’s fund business is worth multimillions, and I assume he had cash and other investments. I wouldn’t feel sorry for them.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t appear to have a lot of respect for Kurt Englebrook. I mean, he did pay your wages.”

  “Not my wages, simply a retainer, although it was lucrative.”

  “Yet you say you didn’t do much.”

  “That’s immaterial. Kurt paid me to be available should he need me. It wasn’t my fault that he didn’t call on me.”

  Le Claire let it be. There was nothing else to say on that topic, for the moment. “Any idea who would want to harm him?”

  His laugh turned into a spluttered cough. “Kurt was worth a bloody fortune. He even made it onto the Sunday Times Rich List. He was also a self-made man. They’re the worst. They think everyone is after something and out to turn them over. However, I hardly think that’s enough to kill someone.”

  “Perhaps. But apparently, someone had a good enough reason to do so.”

  “Indeed. But I wouldn’t know who. Look, don’t get me wrong. Kurt was a swine, but he could also be funny, incredibly charming and supportive of friends and those in need.”

  ◆◆◆

  Chloe sat by her sister’s bed. Jessica lay on top of the duvet, a light blanket covering her. Her sobbing had decreased to the odd moan and gasp here and there. Her nose dripped snot, and her eyes were bloodshot. Not her best look.

  Chloe sighed. “We�
�re going to have to make plans. Eva will want you out of here in a flash.”

  “I am not bloody moving until I am good and ready. I can’t cope with this. I can’t. One minute everything is fine, next thing my husband is dead, bloody burned alive, and my house is pulled from under my feet. And left to a woman who hates my guts.” Her voice ended on a sob.

  “I know. I know. Hush.” She gently ran the pad of her thumb across Jessica’s hand in a rhythmic, soothing motion. “You’ll have more than enough money to get your own place.” She looked around the bedroom, at the voluminous drapes and decorative swags that framed the floor-to-ceiling windows. “One you can decorate to your heart’s content. It gives me the shivers that Kurt never let you decorate this place. I mean, Eva picked all of this.”

  Jessica gave her head a dismissive shake. “I never cared. It wasn’t about Eva. Kurt didn’t see the point in changing it. He liked the manor house look. He didn’t want anything modern. Also, if I’m honest, I wasn’t bothered. I had Kurt, Eva didn’t. I could live with her taste in soft furnishings.”

  “Well, she’ll want you gone for sure.”

  “Indeed, but I am going nowhere until things settle down. I’ve just been widowed; even Eva wouldn’t throw me out on the streets.”

  Chloe said nothing. She wasn’t too sure about that.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Thank you for taking the time to have this discussion.” Le Claire looked at Paul Armstrong and Ian Balfour, who were settled in the sofa area at Armstrong’s offices. “I thought it best that we speak away from the family. You know the circumstances behind Kurt Englebrook’s death. What I need to know is more about the man himself and who would have any reason to harm him.”