Dead Lucky Page 2
It was another hour before the SOCOs released the flat. Lambert had a sense of déjà vu as he viewed the scene, having seen the images on Tillman’s phone. The incident had taken place in the Sackville’s dining room. Lambert studied the two chairs, facing each other, and imagined the horrific nature of what had taken place. He pictured Eustace Sackville begging for mercy from the killer, offering himself in place of his wife; the look of terror on Moira Sackville’s face, seeing her husband’s pleading eyes. The despair and loss on both their faces as her life faded away.
‘Any sign of a break in?’ asked Lambert.
Wright shook his head. We’ve checked the locks on the door, the windows, even the loft. The killer was either invited in, or was already in the house.
The dining room was humid and stuffy, yet Lambert still felt a chill as he looked around. ‘She bled out from her wrists,’ he said, thinking aloud rather than asking for clarity.
‘No other noticeable marks on her so far. The pathologist is pretty sure the wounds to her wrists are the cause of death. Obviously we’ll know more after the autopsy,’ said Wright.
‘Have we ruled out suicide?’ said Kennedy.
‘I haven’t ruled anything out so far,’ said Lambert. He pushed the chair where Moira had sat, noting it was lighter than he’d imagined from the pictures on the iPad. He tested the chair where Eustace had supposedly sat. Unless his legs had been tied, the man should have been able to force himself up from the sitting position. Whether this meant anything was yet to be determined. ‘I take it we’ve requested CCTV footage from the surrounding areas.’
‘Yes, I’ve done most of your job for you,’ said Wright, adding a mischievous, ‘sir,’ as Lambert fixed him with a hard stare.
‘Thanks for your help, James. I’ll call if we need anything else.’
They shook hands and Wright left.
‘He seems happy about this,’ said Kennedy, deadpan.
‘Had any dealing with Eustace Sackville before?’ asked Lambert.
‘No. I did a quick check on the way over. He’s been a bit quiet recently. No articles that I can find in the last nine months. I checked with the paper and he’s still on staff,’ said Kennedy, brushing a loose strand of red hair from her face.
‘Initial thoughts?’ asked Lambert.
‘Presumptuous to look beyond Mr Sackville at the moment. No sign of a break in. I’d be interested to see the insurance policy on his wife. Could have been a poor attempt at suicide, could have been an elaborate set-up by Mr Sackville. Too many unknowns, as Tillman would say.’
Lambert was impressed by Kennedy’s quick thinking. Although she was an experienced officer, most of her previous work had been organised crime. She would have seen murder scenes before, but nothing like this. Tillman’s team didn’t generally get involved in crimes of this nature. Normally something like this would be left to the Met’s murder squads, or major incident teams. The Group had been formed to work on more covert operations, and since its disbandment Lambert had noticed their work was becoming more streamlined. Despite what Tillman had said about him being requested from above, it was hard not to feel that working on the case was some sort of demotion or, if not that, possibly a test to see if he was truly ready to return to work.
‘I’m going to see Sackville. Tillman is setting up an incident room. Get the team together for a seven a.m. meet, and liaise with DI Wright over the CCTV footage. I want to know about everyone who set foot in this building in the last twenty-four hours.’
Lambert caught a taxi back to the hospital. He sat in the back and listened to Eustace Sackville’s 999 call on his headphones again, searching for evidence that the man had been lying. His voice was whispered, but deep in tone. Lambert remembered Sackville as a smoker, and the years of nicotine had affected his vocal chords. ‘It’s my wife, she’s been murdered.’ The words were hauntingly simple, Sackville’s voice drained of emotion – as if the fight had left him.
The operator went through the preliminaries, ascertaining location and if the intruder was still there.
‘I watched her die,’ added Sackville. ‘He tied me up and made me watch her die. There was nothing I could do.’
The rest of the conversation, broken with sobs and a deep guttural coughing from Sackville, was unintelligible.
The hospital was even more desolate than before. Lambert wandered the labyrinthine corridors, trying not to think about Sophie who was asleep several floors above. He flashed his warrant card to the two uniformed police officers sitting outside Sackville’s room.
‘We’ve been told he can’t be interviewed until morning, sir,’ said one of the pair, a nervous looking officer who looked barely old enough to have completed his GCSEs.
‘No one’s spoken to him?’
‘A member of Inspector Wright’s team did, sir, but by all accounts he wasn’t making any sense.’
‘Who’s the doctor in charge?’
‘Dr Nitesh Patel. I’m afraid he’s gone home,’ said the constable, surprising Lambert by blushing.
‘He’s been sedated,’ added the other constable.
‘Great.’ It was five a.m. and the only witness to Moira Sackville’s death was comatose. ‘I need to know the exact second he wakes or the doctor makes an appearance. Do not let anyone other than medical staff into that room. Clear?’
‘Sir.’
Lambert walked the streets looking for somewhere to buy coffee. He found a petrol station with one of the newer coffee machines which used real beans. He called Kennedy, wincing as he sipped the bitter liquid.
‘Everyone is ready at the incident room,’ she said.
‘Ok, I’m going to delay the meeting until Sackville is lucid. Any news on the CCTV?’
‘There are two cameras on the front of the Sackvilles’ building, and more along the street. We’re going through the footage now but I’m afraid it’s a busy place. Lots of people coming and going.’
‘You don’t need to be told to search for anything unusual. Focus on people who have to be buzzed into the building rather than those who have keys, though don’t rule anyone out. Hopefully we’ll know more when I speak to Sackville.’
Chapter 4
Lambert returned to the hospital just as the coffee shop was opening and ordered his second Americano of the day. The place was coming alive with people, medical staff returning for the day shift, shop workers and ancillary staff, patients escaping the prison-like confines of their ward. Sophie was due to leave today and Lambert scanned the growing crowds, desperate to avoid bumping into Jeremy Taylor. He burnt his tongue on the coffee as he retraced his steps to where Sackville was currently residing. One of the uniformed constables had been replaced by a plain clothes officer. She was accompanied outside Sackville’s door by the nervous sounding officer who had spoken to him last night. Both stood as Lambert walked towards them, Lambert shaking his hand free of the hot liquid he’d spilt.
‘DC Shah,’ said the woman, almost standing to attention.
‘I remember you, Shah,’ said Lambert. ‘It’s only been a few months, what do you take me for?’ He’d worked briefly with the young detective during the Souljacker case. She’d assisted him in recreating the image of one of the suspects, a man known only as Campbell. Shah smiled, then, unsure if he was joking or not, cut the smile off abruptly.
‘Dr Patel is in with Sackville now,’ said the nervous sounding officer, who’d grown in confidence since the arrival of his co-worker. Fearing Lambert was about to reprimand him he continued, ‘He’s just gone in this second, we were about to call you.’
‘Take a seat, both of you.’ Lambert peered through a small rectangular window into Sackville’s room, the large figure of the journalist momentarily obscured by the suited figure of the doctor currently examining him. ‘Any other visitors?’
‘No, sir.’
‘What has Dr Patel told you?’
‘Nothing, sir,’ said Shah. ‘He ignored us, didn’t even acknowledge our presence.’
‘He was informed about Mrs Sackville, last night,’ said the nervous officer. ‘There was no way of avoiding it. Mr Sackville was pretty incoherent at the time. After we told Dr Patel he decided to sedate him.’
The doctor left the room five minutes later. He didn’t acknowledge Lambert’s presence either and was about to walk off down the corridor when Lambert touched his shoulder.
‘Dr Patel?’
‘Yes?’ said the man, turning to face Lambert, a look of distaste etched on his face.
‘Detective Chief Inspector, Michael Lambert. I’m leading the case on Mrs Sackville’s suspicious death.’ The doctor shrugged his shoulders as if Lambert’s position was of no interest to him. ‘I need to speak to Mr Sackville.’
‘Sorry, not possible.’
Lambert was experienced enough not to lose his temper. He’d come across jobsworths like Patel many times before. ‘I’m afraid it’s imperative I speak to Mr Sackville. He was the last person to see his wife alive. It is possible he witnessed a murder.’
‘Mr Sackville has suffered serious mental and physical pain,’ said Patel, walking away once more.
Lambert tried to placate the man. ‘I understand completely, Doctor, but you must understand the urgency of the situation. If we are to have any chance of catching the person responsible for Mrs Sackville’s death then we need to act as quickly as possible and we can’t act at all until we hear what Mr Sackville has to say. I promise, five minutes at most. You can stop the interview at any time.’
The doctor nodded, considering what Lambert had said as if he was the person truly in charge of the situation.
‘Five minutes,’ he agreed, ‘but you must stop if Mr Sackville becomes agitated in any way.’
‘Thank you, Dr Patel. Before we go in, can you give me an update on Mr Sackville’s condition?’
The doctor sighed, as if Lambert was asking him for an impossible favour. Lambert placed his hands inside his trouser pockets and clenched his fists.
‘He was admitted with shock and severe trauma to his lower arms and wrists.’
‘Can you give me some more detail on his wrist injuries?’
Patel moved his lips as if there was a bad smell in the room. ‘We had to treat and strap his wrists. There were severe ligature marks and tissue damage on both sides. We’ve x-rayed him. There were no broken bones and I’m confident there will be no lasting damage. It’s his mental state I’m most worried about. I’ve called in a clinical psychologist, who’ll be here shortly.’
‘I’m sure you don’t like to hypothesise, Dr Patel, but if you were to guess, what would you say caused the injuries?’
‘You’re correct on that front, Mr Lambert. I’d say the marks are consistent with something being tied or strapped onto his wrists – but the pressure must have been immense considering the damage caused.’
‘Could it have been rope, binds, handcuffs even?’
‘Again I’m guessing, but the injuries are consistent with handcuffs of some sort. There were no burn marks which might result from the use of rope.’
‘You’ve seen this sort of thing before?’ asked Lambert.
‘There’s not much I haven’t seen. Shall we?’
The doctor opened the door to Eustace Sackville’s room. Lambert recognised the figure of the man lying in the bed, despite the unfamiliar context. He had come across Sackville on numerous occasions over the last couple of decades. Lambert remembered him as jovial, gregarious and with a respectful streak he hadn’t always encountered with others of Sackville’s profession. Now he looked like a pale, empty shell, years older than he should have been.
Then the man set his eyes on Lambert and something changed. There was still a sparkle there, a lightness to his piercing green eyes. ‘DCI Lambert,’ the man croaked, ‘they’re pulling out the big guns for me then.’
‘Mr Sackville, it’s good to see you again. I’m sorry it’s in such awful circumstances.’
Sackville turned his head away in dismissal. ‘None of this formality bullshit, Lambert. Call me Eustace or Sackville, anything but Mr Sackville. Could you get me some water?’
Lambert picked up the glass jug to the side of Sackville’s bed and filled two plastic beakers.
‘Mr Lambert won’t take up much of your time,’ said Dr Patel.
Sackville waved the doctor away with a swipe of his hand. ‘This needs to be done.’ He took a sip of water, droplets spilling onto his chin which was decorated with specks of stubble. ‘Sit then. Ask me what you have to.’
Lambert turned the chair to face him. He had to crane his neck to look up at the reclined figure. Dr Patel continued his sentry, arms folded at the edge of the bed.
‘I understand what you’re going through, Eustace. I know it won’t be easy, but in your own words can you tell me everything that happened last night.’
Sackville nodded. ‘I guess you actually do have some idea of what I’m going through,’ he said. Sackville had reported on a number of Lambert’s cases in the past and knew about the death of his daughter. Sackville took another sip of water. ‘He was already in the house,’ he said, the initial lightness Lambert had seen in his eyes disappearing, his face vacant as he recalled what had happened. ‘At least I think he was. I came out of the bathroom and he was there. He had a knife, that’s all it was, but it was pushed tight against Moira’s throat.’ The sound of grinding teeth filled the muted room. ‘I hadn’t heard a doorbell so I’m sure Moira hadn’t buzzed anyone in – so he must have been there all along.’
‘Can you describe him?’ asked Lambert.
Sackville’s eyes darted to the ceiling. ‘Picture your clichéd version of a cat burglar and you’ve got him. Dressed head to toe in black. Mask instead of a balaclava. Leather I think. Even his eyes looked black through the slits in the mask.’
‘Height? Build?’
‘Six foot, six foot one. At one point he leant back on our bookcase, his head was level with the second from top shelf. You measure that, you’ll get your height. It’s funny what you think of in the circumstances, how your mind distracts you. He had a strong looking build, slim. When he cuffed me on the chair I could sense his strength.’
‘Tell me what happened prior to that?’
‘He told me to pull two chairs over,’ Sackville hesitated, rubbing his neck. ‘He told me to make sure they were facing, then he told me to sit.’
Lambert shuddered. Two months ago, he’d been in a similar position. Tied to a chair, a co-worker tied to a chair opposite. He’d thought he’d overcome the memories of that time, but now he wasn’t sure.
‘Mr Lambert, I’m not sure we should continue,’ said Dr Patel.
Lambert shook himself from his reverie, and rounded on the man. ‘We are continuing,’ he said, turning back to Sackville. ‘Continue, Eustace.’
‘He told me to sit in the chair facing the window, to put my hands behind me. He said any movement towards him, however slight, would result in Moira’s instant death followed by mine. I thought it was a simple house burglary, Michael. I thought the guy had messed up, got his timings wrong. I just thought he was going to tie us up, take whatever he wanted and then leave us alone. I couldn’t see his face, so why…’
For the first time since Lambert had arrived, Sackville lost his composure. It was miraculous he’d kept it together so long.
‘It’s not your fault,’ said Lambert. ‘I’d have done exactly the same thing in your situation.’
‘I doubt that. He pulled out a pair of cuffs. He manoeuvred Moira so she was behind me and he made her cuff me, my hands behind my back. He then told Moira to sit opposite me. As soon as I was secure he seemed to relax. He came over and pulled the cuffs tight to my wrists. He kept pushing them into my skin until he could push no more. Christ, I screamed like a bloody child.’
Sackville wiped his sleeve across his eyes. ‘Moira screamed out for him to stop, a
nd for some reason he did. Jesus.’
Lambert knew time was short. Recalling the incident was naturally having a great impact on Sackville, and Lambert feared he would break down again and that Patel would be forced to sedate him. ‘Have some more water.’
‘Thanks.’ Sackville coughed. ‘It’s the not knowing. That fucking bastard paced the room, and refused to answer our questions about what he wanted. I think he was plucking up the courage to do what…’
‘Tell me,’ said Lambert.
Sackville swayed forwards and back on his pillow, his neck and facial muscles so tense they looked liable to snap at any moment. ‘He stopped and looked at me, and I thought he was about to attack. He did, only it wasn’t me.’
‘This can’t continue,’ said Patel, almost as agitated as Sackville.
Lambert held up his hand. ‘Please go on, Eustace.’
‘He gagged her. It was fucking pitiful. I pulled at my cuffs, and they hurt even more, but I just kept fighting. The look in her eyes, Michael. You can’t imagine. I saw everything. Fear, pain, loss, accusation. I saw our whole fucking life together disappearing and I was helpless to do anything about it. She was pleading to me, Michael. She wanted me to help her.’ Sackville shook his head. ‘You’ll never fucking know.’ He began sobbing, and Lambert had to look away as Patel went to intervene.
‘Please, Eustace, just tell me,’ said Lambert, staring at the hospital-white wall of Sackville’s room.
‘This is finished,’ said Patel.
Lambert turned and looked back at Sackville, knowing he’d already pushed the man too far.
‘It’s okay,’ said Sackville, trying to compose himself. ‘He cut her, left wrist then right. It was almost tender, that sick bastard. Moira saw the blood and she disappeared. She didn’t look at me any more. I kept asking him, why, fucking why? I told him to kill me instead but he just sat on one of the other chairs staring at me, ignoring my screams. Watching.’
Sackville’s heart monitor began beeping rapidly, his heartbeat rocketing to one hundred and ten.
‘Enough,’ shouted Patel, pressing an alarm button.