Taste of Blood

Chapter Eighteen

Jane did not return to the station but went straight home. She had made up her mind to talk to Eddie. She had only just taken off her coat when the doorbell rang. She assumed it was him, being stubborn enough not to use his house keys. Pulling the front door open, Jane was surprised to find Stanley on the doorstep.

‘Stanley?’

‘I just stopped by to check you were all right. Actually, I came by earlier, but your workman told me you’d left. When you didn’t turn up at the station... Listen, are you going to invite me in, or leave me standing out here?’

‘I’m sorry, come in.’

Stanley walked into the hall and looked around.

‘Wow, this is very nice... I like the wallpaper.’

‘Thank you. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

He followed her into the kitchen. ‘Very nice, my wife would be impressed... all new appliances, and these tiles look good behind your sink.’

Jane put the kettle on as Stanley sat at the small table. She fetched mugs and milk and sugar as he looked at the glass-fronted cupboards. ‘These are well made, makes me feel bad about never doing anything in our place. But with the kids bashing around and the dog scratching at the doors, he’d have the paint off within minutes.’

‘All down to Eddie and his team. I’ll show you around if you like.’

‘Sure, how’s the migraine?’

‘Well, you caught me out; it was just an excuse.’

He grinned. ‘Thought it might be. I’ve never known you take time out for a headache. That’s why I was worried about you. Not my business, but is it all sorted with you and him?’

‘Nope, but thank you for coming by because I want to talk a few things over with you.’

‘Look, I’m no agony aunt, Jane. I never give advice on personal issues. But judging by the look of the place he must be a good craftsman. I bet this has put the value of your house up a few grand.’

Jane waited for the kettle to boil and took out a tin of biscuits.

‘It has actually, but I didn’t want to bore you with what’s going on between me and Eddie. I took time out to go and visit the medium again.’

‘You are joking!’

‘No, I’m not. I went with Angelica Martinez; you know, the ex-Mrs Hoffman that used to live at the Caplans’ house? It was a group session, and honestly I was taken aback by some of the things she came out with.’

Jane told Stanley about the way Vera used a notepad to make strange drawings, and how she brought certain people forwards. ‘I was going to come into the station afterwards to talk things through with you, but now that you are here it’s probably better to explain everything here rather than in the incident room.’

Jane poured their tea and Stanley ate his way through the biscuits.

‘OK, I am now certain that Sebastian Martinez was murdered... and before you say anything, hear me out.’

He shrugged, stirring his tea, as Jane went through the whole story: the neighbours’ relationships before the Caplans bought the property, the Hoffmans’ financial troubles, and the sale of the courtyard to the Larssons.

‘There were bad feelings between them because Sebastian got the Larssons’ daughter pregnant; she was underage and the boy was packed off to Mexico. The Larssons began to tarmac the courtyard, but then their daughter died.’

Stanley held up his hand. ‘Hold on, I’m trying to follow this, Jane. Did all the neighbours pay for the tarmac or just the Larssons?’

‘They all chipped in, and the neighbours have right of way to gain entry to their properties.’

‘But nobody can park there, right?’

‘Yes, as we both know.’

‘So, go on, their daughter died, then what?’

Jane poured them both another cup of tea while she explained about how the girl’s funeral held up the workmen finishing the tarmac. She then opened her briefcase and took out the file on Sebastian Martinez, his return flight, and the fact that no one had seen him since his return. She finished by telling him about Vera James and her conviction that he had died violently.

‘I am certain that he was murdered, Stanley, and that the Larssons and Martin Boon are involved.’

‘Jesus Christ, Jane, I don’t know what to say. I mean, this isn’t just supposition, it’s... I don’t know, it’s mind-boggling. You have zero evidence, and if you try explaining to Hutton that you are basing all of this on the word of a medium, you’ll be laughed out of her office.’

Jane refused to be put off. ‘But what do you think?’

‘What do I think?’

‘Yes, the boy has disappeared off the face of the earth, his father has had no contact, nor his mother, but we know he returned to London...’

Stanley shrugged. ‘He’s a teenager, he could be anywhere. Did she report him missing?’

‘No, but I think that’s because Vera never told her the truth. All she said to her was that her son is close to home.’

‘Right, and she keeps on paying how much for these sessions?’

‘I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not cheap, and I thought Vera was a fraud at first. But after this afternoon I don’t think she is.’

‘Look, I’m going to be honest with you. I think maybe what is going on in your personal life is sort of leading you astray. Even taking into consideration everything you’ve told me, I think you are wasting your time.’

‘What if I’m not?’ Jane persisted.

‘For God’s sake, Jane,’ Stanley said, beginning to lose patience. ‘You don’t have a shred of evidence, so just forget it. If you start bringing in a bloody medium as your only reason for investigating the boy’s disappearance...’

‘Murder.’

Stanley sighed and got up from the table, taking his mug and putting it on the draining-board.

‘I’ve got to get home. If you really want to keep digging, I suggest you contact Mispers, see if there are any unidentified bodies. Maybe the boy died after he got back to the UK, but no one knew who he was.’

Jane sat back in her chair. ‘Right, well, thanks for coming by. I was hoping you’d sort of back me up.’

‘Back you up? To do what, exactly?’

‘I want to know more about the Larssons’ daughter. I’m not sure how she died or exactly when, but if it was around the time Sebastian returned then that could be a motive. When Victor Hoffman sold the courtyard to the Larssons, he inferred it was because he needed the money, but also because he was threatened by them when they discovered Sebastian was seeing their underage daughter.’

Stanley sighed. ‘I’m going home. If you want some advice, just forget about all this.’

Jane showed Stanley out, locking the front door after him. She was angry that he’d been so dismissive, but the feeling quickly faded, and she started wondering if her obsessive focus on Sebastian Martinez was just a way of not facing up to the situation with Eddie.

After a shower and getting into her pyjamas, Jane didn’t bother going down to the kitchen to make herself something to eat but just got into bed. She picked up the phone and called Eddie’s parents, assuming he would be there.

Eddie’s mother answered.

‘Hello, it’s Jane, and I just wondered if Eddie was there?’ Jane said in an over-cheery tone.

‘Oh, hello dear, no, he’s not been here for ages. I think he was helping his dad out on some big job. I can ask him if he knows where he is.’

‘No, don’t bother. I’ll wait for him to call me. Thank you, and sorry to bother you.’

‘No bother, dear. Everything all right?’

‘Yes, fine, hope to see you soon,’ Jane said, not wanting to get into a conversation, as it was obvious Eddie hadn’t told them about their separation. She thought about calling his mobile, but to have to go through all the rigmarole of leaving messages with the receptionist, she decided not to bother. It was still only nine thirty, but she felt exhausted after the talk with Stanley, and she turned off the bedside light and settled down for an early night.

Jane woke up early the next morning, and instead of going straight to the station, she went and did a grocery shop at the local supermarket which opened at seven thirty. By the time she had bought everything and returned home to stack the fridge and freezer, she had to hurry to get to the station in time for a quick breakfast.

The canteen was almost empty as she ordered scrambled eggs and bacon with toast and coffee, and was just tucking in when Burrows appeared with a tray of coffee to take into the incident room. He stopped by Jane’s table to ask if she was feeling better. She nodded, her mouth full of toast.

‘I’m getting in a round as the trolley doesn’t come by until eleven,’ Burrows said. ‘Stanley was looking for you earlier, by the way.’

‘What did he want?’

‘Not sure, but something’s kicked off at that bloody Clarendon Court. Uniforms were called out and the boss told Stanley to get over there.’

Jane quickly finished her breakfast and hurried to the control room. No one there had any further information, so she tapped on Hutton’s office door.

Hutton was checking over some documents and held up her hand for Jane to wait.

‘Sorry, Jane, some of the CPS case queries get more complicated by the minute.’

‘I was just told that something is going down at Clarendon Court.’

Hutton sighed. ‘Yes, we had a call from Mr Caplan to say that the wretched Mr Boon appeared at his front door with maps of the Land Registry, and was demanding that work stops. Caplan refused to talk to him but he then called the police as his neighbours were stopping his builders working. It really is becoming ridiculous, with both parties demanding the police do something; and as Mr Boon is just out of hospital I would hate for this to escalate, so I asked Stanley to go over there and try to defuse the situation.’

‘Should I go over there?’

‘No, Jane, I would like you to check some of these documents, run over the evidence and answer the questions raised by the CPS. Oh, how’s the migraine?’

‘Fine, thank you.’

‘Good, I used to get them, really awful cluster migraines, but thankfully — touch wood — I’ve been clear for years.’

Jane returned to her desk with an armful of case files and got stuck in, but it was hard to concentrate, wondering what was going on at Clarendon Court.

Stanley was standing near the Caplans’ back garden. Three builders were waiting to erect the stone posts for the electric gates. They explained that it was necessary to dig quite a substantial hole for the concrete and then insert the posts, four in all, and it meant that they would need to remove Mrs Larsson’s flower pots.

The issue seemed to be that they would have to lift about five inches of tarmac where the gates were going to be, even though Mr Caplan had assured Mr Boon that they would make good the damage.

Stanley had firmly told Mr Boon to remain in his house, and Mr Caplan had also agreed that until things were settled, he would stay indoors. The uniformed officer had left and Stanley had inspected the area. It seemed absurd that even with Mr Caplan agreeing to resurface the area in question, Mr Boon was insisting that it was over the boundary lines, and therefore Mr Caplan had no right to touch it. They were now waiting for the inspector from the Land Registry to arrive before any work could begin.

As the situation appeared to be under control, Mrs Caplan had invited the workmen into the kitchen to make them a cup of tea. Stanley was offered tea or coffee, but felt that he should remain outside, ready to meet the inspector.

The Larssons came out of their house, saw Stanley, and then Mrs Larsson then went into Martin Boon’s house. Mr Larsson remained standing on the path for some time, then returned to his house. Stanley got out of his car and inspected the dying plants on Mrs Larsson’s railing, within inches of the Caplans’ little garden gate. There was just four inches of soil for the plants to grow.

He turned round to look over the courtyard. There was a small indentation where the tarmac had stopped and then been continued. The ridge was opposite the Bellamys’ property and Stanley remembered Jane telling him that when their daughter’s funeral was taking place the workmen laying down the tarmac had stopped working to allow the funeral hearse and cars to enter the courtyard. So that meant that the two houses opposite, belonging to the Larssons and the Boons, were only tarmacked after the funeral.

Stanley was about to get back into his car when a young woman on a scooter came into the courtyard and rode into the Bellamys’ property. He walked over as she removed her helmet and goggles. She had long, auburn, curly hair and was taking a leather bag from the pouch at the back of the scooter.

‘Excuse me, do you live here?’ Stanley asked. He showed her his ID.

‘Oh, I don’t live here, this is my parents’ house. They’re at work. I’m a student at Coventry University. I’m just home for a few days as it’s my mother’s birthday. I’m Kathleen, by the way.’

‘Ah, well, Kathleen, maybe you can help me. It might sound a bit odd, but do you know when the tarmacking of the courtyard was done?’

‘Yes, I remember it because of Georgina’s funeral. It had been partly finished, but they stopped work because of all the cars and the hearse.’

‘Did you know Georgina well?’

‘Yes, we were good friends. I got to know her when we moved in. It was very sad.’

‘Can you remember when exactly they finished the tarmac?’

‘Oh, gosh, it was quite a while after the funeral because according to my father they were a bunch of cowboys. He complained to the Larssons because they had left our section a mess of potholes.’

‘So, when they began work again, were you at home?’

‘Some of the time. They did our section first, then worked their way around.’

‘So was the last section tarmacked across from your house?’

‘I think so. I remember they had this truck boiling the tar. It took quite some time.’

‘Did you know the previous owners, Mr and Mrs Hoffman?’

‘Yes, but not very well.’

‘What about their son?’

‘Sebastian?’

‘Yes. He’d be about your age?’

‘I knew him; we both did.’

‘You mean Georgina?’

‘Yes, he was her boyfriend.’

Stanley was eager to question Kathleen further, but then a battered Morris Minor drove into the courtyard and parked next to Stanley’s car. A small, balding man in a waterproof jacket that looked two sizes too large got out and leaned into the passenger seat to take out a clipboard. Stanley knew it had to be the man from the Land Registry. He quickly thanked Kathleen for her time and hurried across the courtyard.

The man was about to ring the Caplans’ garden gate bell when Stanley called out to him.

‘Just a second, sir, I need to have a word with you.’

Stanley had his ID out as he approached the rather startled man. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Stanley from the Met; I need a few minutes of your time before we get into this situation here. You are from the Land Registry, correct?’

‘Yes, I’m Adrian Fellows. I have the documents here.’ He showed his clipboard with his name at the top as an investigator employed by the council.

‘Do you have a map showing the courtyard’s boundaries?’

‘Yes, I’ve researched the boundaries in question, dating back to the original owners, the De Wilding family.’

‘Terrific, would you just come and sit with me in my car as I’d like to go through a few things.’

The rather confused Mr Fellows accompanied Stanley to get into the passenger seat of his car. His cheeks were flushed and his small eyes blinked rapidly.

‘So, Mr Fellows, Mr Caplan was granted permission by the council to erect new gates and for them to open on to the courtyard, is that correct?’

‘That’s right. There was opposition from a neighbour, but as this is not a street road, with no passing traffic, permission was granted.’

‘But you have been called out because there is still opposition from the same neighbour, Mr Boon?’

Mr Fellows flipped through pages of documents on his clipboard, then nodded. ‘That’s right.’

Stanley scratched his head, trying to get things clear in his mind.

‘Can you tell me why you think Mr Boon has been opposing all of David Caplan’s plans for the electric gates and his fences? They do not appear to have any logical reason; his plans do not encroach on any part of his land.’

‘Well, the reality is we have to take any objections seriously.’

Stanley nodded. ‘Have Mr and Mrs Larsson also made objections?’

‘No, not to my knowledge.’

‘Thank you for your time, sir. I’d just quickly like to show you something I noticed earlier.’

Stanley and Mr Fellows walked from the car to the double gates, and Stanley pointed out the concrete section that bordered the gates.

‘Mr Caplan can’t open the gates outwards because the paved stones are blocking them, so they must have always opened inwards.’

‘Well, you have me there because I do not know when these paving stones were laid down.’

The conversation had to end there as Stanley saw Martin Boon walking out of his house with a sheaf of documents under his arm, just as David Caplan came out with the three builders.

It felt like a neighbourhood high noon. The nervous Mr Fellows clung tightly to his clipboard as the two neighbours approached each other, while the builders remained standing at the gate. Stanley was wondering how to keep things from getting heated when an elegant Bentley drove into the courtyard. Everyone turned as the driver drew slowly to a stop.

A man in an immaculate navy suit with a red cashmere scarf stepped out of the car, carrying a leather briefcase.

‘Perfect timing,’ Caplan said.

‘Good afternoon, David.’

‘Let me introduce you.’ He turned to the others. ‘This is my legal advisor, Michael Littleton. This is Detective Inspector Stanley, Martin Boon my neighbour and...’ He glanced at Mr Fellows.

‘Adrian Fellows from the Land Registry.’

Littleton gave a little nod and then shook Mr Fellows’ hand, before he turned to Martin Boon.

‘I don’t think your presence is necessary, Mr Boon. I am here to talk to Mr Fellows about the boundaries of my client’s property.’

Mr Boon puffed himself up. ‘I have the plans from Her Majesty’s Land Registry here, clearly indicating that Mr Caplan’s proposed erection of large concrete gate posts would cross the boundary line.’

Mr Littleton shrugged. ‘I would suggest that your maps are outdated, and I would also suggest that you have no legal right to oppose Mr Caplan’s plans as your property is not involved. Perhaps you might suggest to Mr and Mrs Larsson that they should be present since they own the courtyard. I have certain issues with them that need to be formally addressed.’

Boon’s mouth opened and shut like a drowning man and his face flushed with anger. Mr Littleton turned to David Caplan and Mr Fellows. ‘Shall we go inside to view the documents?’

Mr Caplan asked the builders to wait in their truck, as he gestured for everyone to follow him into the house.

Littleton pointed to the ridge of stones outside the property’s old wooden double gates.

‘There used to be stables here, and part of the courtyard was cobblestones. I would say those stones are perhaps left from that period.’ He then pointed to the edge of the tarmac with the toe of his highly polished shoe.

Boon remained standing, clutching his documents, as the gate was closed behind them.

Inside the house, they all sat down at the mahogany dining table. Littleton removed a stack of files from his briefcase, spreading maps and legal papers out in front of him. Buster had managed to get out of his cage and charged in, bounding around the table. Mr Fellows cringed back in his chair.

‘I’m not very good with dogs, I’m afraid. I have allergies.’

Caplan grabbed Buster by his collar and led him out as Mr Fellows frantically brushed at his coat sleeves.

Littleton smiled. ‘They always seem to know if you’re scared of them. I have a Siamese cat that’s always vicious to the one person I know who hates cats.’ He then got out a calculator and placed it on the table.

‘Do we wait for Mr or Mrs Larsson, or shall I just get on with it?’ he asked.

Stanley looked at his watch. He’d already been there for some time, but he was also quite eager to hear the outcome — even more so when Mrs Caplan carried in a tray of pastries. ‘Please help yourselves while the coffee’s brewing,’ she said with a smile.

Littleton waited until the coffee had been served before beginning. ‘Right, I have been on quite an expedition, tracking down every single legal document pertaining to this property. I mentioned earlier there had been stables, probably taking up most of the garden, which is the bone of contention with your neighbour. There is a legally binding document from 1932 that stipulates access must be allowed, probably for carriages to be driven in and out of the courtyard.’

Littleton passed some documents over to Mr Fellows. ‘The important thing to note is that at no time were the original boundaries pertaining to the stables and courtyard revoked.’

He picked up one last document, unfolding it carefully.

‘Finally, here’s a map Victor Hoffman found, and this is the only one that indicates the exact boundary of the property. It was drawn up in 1952. Mr Hoffman said he didn’t really examine it when he sold Mr and Mrs Larsson the courtyard.’

He handed it to Mr Caplan.

‘As you can see, not only do your plans not encroach on the boundary, but the truth is that Mr and Mrs Larsson encroached on your land by just over 25 inches when the tarmac was laid.’

Mr Caplan stood up, clapping his hands. ‘This is good news!’

Littleton smiled. ‘Well, don’t celebrate quite yet. Mr Fellows will need to verify it on behalf of the council.’

Stanley chose this moment to make his excuse to leave. He was certain with the formidable Michael Littleton on board, Mr Caplan would have no further problems with Martin Boon. He was surprised that the Larssons had not made an appearance, but as usual, they seemed to be hiding behind Martin Boon.

Mr Fellows took the map from Mr Littleton and followed him out, just as the Larssons pulled into their drive. As they got out they frowned at the array of vehicles parked outside the Caplans’ house. Martin Boon must have been poised, waiting for their return, as he hurried out from his house. They had a brief conversation and then Mrs Larsson strode across the courtyard.

‘Are you Mr Fellows from the council? I’m Mrs Larsson.’

‘Ah, yes, I was hoping to speak to you earlier. We just had a meeting regarding the boundary situation, and I am about to return to the office to verify a document.’

‘You were supposed to be here earlier this afternoon. I have been waiting for a site visit for weeks.’

‘Well, I had both Mr Boon and Mr Caplan asking me to be here this morning. I did suggest Mr Boon contact you to join us for the meeting with Mr Caplan’s legal advisor.’

‘You had no right to have any kind of meeting without my presence. Why didn’t you attend, Martin?’

‘I was told by whatever his name is that I had no right to be privy to their discussions.’

Mr Fellows held up his clipboard. ‘Well, I can tell you the outcome of the meeting, which is that contrary to what you have been led to believe, the tarmacked courtyard is encroaching on Mr Caplan’s property. He therefore has every right to commence building work. I will write to you formally to confirm the council’s decision.’

Mrs Larsson was furious. ‘How dare you!’

Mr Fellows got out his car keys and hurried round to the driver’s side of his car, but she went after him and held onto the open door as he tried to shut it.

‘Get out of your car now, do you hear me? Get out!’

Stanley hurried over. ‘Please let go of the door, Mrs Larsson.’

She turned on him, shoving him hard in the chest, before attempting to drag Mr Fellows out. He managed to shrug her off and started the engine, but she leaned in and tried to grab the steering wheel, inadvertently scratching him on his face. Sitting in their truck, the builders were enjoying the show, one of them applauding while the others laughed.

Stanley finally managed to pull Mrs Larsson away, holding onto her as Martin Boon came to assist him; but his presence seemed to antagonise her even more.

‘Get away from me, you imbecile. After all I have done for you, don’t you know what this will mean? Get out of my sight!’

Fellows managed to do a U-turn in the courtyard, then drove off with a handkerchief held to his cheek. Boon tried to calm Mrs Larsson down, but she wouldn’t let him touch her, jerking her arm away.

He said something to her and she slapped his face, hard, then ran across the courtyard.

‘Are you all right, Mr Boon?’ Stanley asked.

A dejected-looking Martin Boon stood with his hand pressed to his cheek.

He said nothing, his gaze following Mrs Larsson as her husband appeared at the front door. She ran sobbing into his arms, and he quickly drew her inside.

Stanley drove out, shaking his head. Nothing he’d just witnessed made any sense. He needed to get back to the station and talk to Jane. Maybe she was right and something else lay behind what was going on at Clarendon Court.