Dead Lucky

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.’

‘Well don’t let him hurt your feelings, Constable. What does he know about the incident?’

‘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, and 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.

As two nurses entered the room, Lambert called out. ‘Who was he, Eustace?’

‘I don’t know, Lambert. You need to tell Prue. Prue McKenzie,’ said Sackville, his voice a whisper as one of the nurses pulled a mask over his mouth and Lambert reluctantly left the room.

Chapter 5

‘You must be doing something right. I’ve just received my first complaint about you.’

Lambert was sitting in Tillman’s office, the blinds pulled down. ‘Let me guess, Dr Patel?’

Tillman nodded. ‘Was it worth it?’

‘Unless he’s an Oscar level actor, then we can rule out Eustace Sackville. Directly, at least.’

Tillman, who was leaning back on his swivel chair, raised his eyebrows.

‘But I do think there was something he wasn’t telling me.’

Tillman’s chair groaned as he pulled himself upright. ‘You think he arranged it somehow?’

‘No, but I’m not ruling anything out yet. Why are we working on this, sir? Even if it’s not a routine murder it’s not really our department.’

‘I told you, lots of interested parties on this one. You were requested. It seems your work on the Souljacker business has made you something of a celebrity. It needs to be contained though. I don’t want it leaking to the press.’

‘Really? Have you informed the uniforms guarding his room?’

‘Yes, and the friends you’ve been making at the hospital.’

‘Sackville’s a journalist.’

‘No press,’ interrupted Tillman.

‘Whatever you say. What is my team on this?’

‘You’ll be the SIO and head our team. We’ll use outside help where necessary. You’ll be needing this.’ Tillman handed him a policy book.

Lambert smirked. Tillman was not renowned for following the rules. When they’d been part of The Group, the majority of the investigations had been so secretive that there was little or no record of them.

‘You can laugh, but there is a lot of attention on this so do it right.’

Lambert left the room, still confused as to the importance given to the case. His team were assembled in the office, studying their laptops and case notes. Kennedy approached. ‘How did it go with Mr Sackville?’

He relayed the conversation, noticing how intently Kennedy listened, her wide green eyes rarely diverting from his. ‘Shall I get everyone together?’ she asked.

Lambert nodded.

It was strange to head up a team after so long. Lambert stood in front of the six-strong team and called for silence. The team stared back at him, their faces a mixture of apathy and curiosity. He told them about his meeting with Sackville.

‘What do we have in the way of family members?’ he asked the room in general.

‘It’s a weird one, sir,’ said Kennedy. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anyone in the way of immediate family. Both sets of parents have long since passed away. Both Mr and Mrs Sackville are only children. They married twenty-five years ago but are childless.’

Lambert paused. ‘That might be relevant. Close friends, colleagues?’

‘I’ve arranged a meeting with the editor of Sackville’s paper for this morning,’ said Kennedy.

‘Good. Let’s find out what he was working on. Get to know his colleagues. What about our victim?’

A young DC, the newest member of the team, Steve Devlin got to his feet. ‘Mrs Sackville worked as a librarian,’ he said. ‘Dulwich Library. I’m planning to head over there after this, sir.’

‘Give that to Kennedy,’ said Lambert, noting the look of disappointment on Devlin’s face. ‘Sackville gave me the name “Prue McKenzie” when we talked. Kennedy, find out who she is. Get her thoughts on what happened. If Sackville’s recollection is correct then we seem to have a killer who’s not scared to take his time. Why did he make Eustace watch?’ asked Lambert, thinking aloud.

‘It’s not that uncommon,’ said Kennedy. ‘Could be a power thing. Gets off on having his handiwork observed.’

‘Let’s check on The System for any similar cases where someone was forced to witness another’s murder.’

‘Why the wrists?’ asked Devlin.

‘Good point. The cause of death was two vertical incisions, one to each wrist. The autopsy may give us more. It was a long, slow death. Sackville seemed to think that was the killer’s intention. Again, that might be significant.’

‘It’s reminiscent of suicide obviously,’ said Kennedy.

‘Yes,’ agreed Lambert. ‘But the most important thing for now is to find out as much detail about Mr and Mrs Sackville. It’s imperative we have some idea of motive.’

‘What are you thinking, sir?’ asked Kennedy.

‘From what Eustace Sackville told me, we are looking at someone professional. A killer who gained entry into the flat undetected, who had the patience and confidence to stay at the scene as Moira died. This was planned in advanced and Moira wasn’t a random target.’

Chapter 6

‘Kennedy, a word,’ Tillman summoned her in just as the briefing ended. ‘Shut the door.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Matilda.

‘Sit down.’

Matilda took a seat opposite her superior. He’d taken his jacket off and his pale blue shirt was tight against his body, as if constraining the flesh within. His head stood atop the widest shoulders she’d ever seen. He was like a prop-forward of a rugby team. Conspicuous muscle covered by a layer of fat.

‘Update.’

‘Shouldn’t you be speaking to Lambert about that, sir?’ She tilted her head, toying with him, wondering how far she could push.

Tillman stared straight ahead. ‘As we discussed before, I want you to keep an eye on him. This is the first major case he’s headed since he came back to us. You know his past.’

Matilda knew some of it. Lambert had been out of the force for the last two years. A few months ago he’d captured a serial killer who’d been active for over twenty years, by all accounts almost single-handed.

‘I’m not going to spy on him Glenn, if that’s what you want. Jesus, is that why…’

Tillman cut her off with a wave of his hand. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Kennedy.’ He looked genuinely aggrieved by her comment. They sat opposite each other in awkward silence, Matilda recalling the other evening where they’d both stayed on late at the local bar. Her ludicrous invitation for him to come back to her flat, and his even more ludicrous acceptance.

‘I just want you to be mindful,’ he said, breaking the silence. ‘Let me know if he does anything out of the ordinary. He has a habit of doing things his own way. Just keep me updated.’

‘Is there anything else, sir?’ said Matilda, standing.

Tillman rubbed his chin, a bead of sweat dripping from his brow. She wanted to ask him about the other night but it wasn’t the right place or time.

‘Shall we save that for another time, Matilda?’

Matilda nodded and left his office, leaving the door ajar.

Lambert was still in the office, sitting alone, staring intently at his computer screen, but she knew he’d clocked her leaving Tillman’s office. She walked over, noticing with surprise how fresh he looked despite being up all night waiting for Sackville to come round.

‘Kennedy,’ he said.

‘Sir?’

‘Anything new to tell me?’

‘No.’

‘What’s your next move?’

‘I have an address for Prue McKenzie. I’m off to see her. I’m afraid it’ll be one of those visits. She doesn’t know about Moira’s death.’

Lambert returned his focus to his laptop. ‘Okay, find out as much as you can.’

‘Potential enemies, nemesis, that sort of thing. Somebody who’d just been fined for an overdue library book…’ said Matilda, raising an eyebrow.

‘Anything like that,’ said Lambert, not looking away from his screen.

She thought about Lambert as she drove to Dulwich. The rumours and whispers about him were legendary within the department, though he seemed to have an uneasy relationship with Tillman. They’d worked an old case together, Lambert rescuing Tillman from a hostage situation which resulted in one of the captors dying. Then there was the Souljacker case where for a time Lambert had been a suspect in a string of killings spanning twenty years.

More than any of that, there was Lambert’s daughter. Chloe Lambert had died age nine following a road accident when Lambert had been driving. The incident had taken place three years ago and resulted in Lambert being hospitalised, forced into an induced coma. He’d never been prosecuted for his role in the accident but the unkind whispers remained that somehow he was to blame.

Prue McKenzie lived in a semi-detached house close to Dulwich Park. Matilda pulled the car over two houses down. She knew nothing about the woman she was about to meet. As Moira Sackville had no immediate family, except for her husband, McKenzie would be the first person aside from the assigned professionals to learn of her death.

Matilda’s shoes crunched on the loose stones of McKenzie’s driveway. A light blue BMW with this year’s licence plate took centre stage, polished to perfection. Matilda stood by the front door, took in a deep breath and rang the doorbell. She hated these types of visits, the reaction she would receive was unpredictable but never pleasant.

A thin, wiry woman in her mid-sixties opened the door and smiled at Matilda.

‘Prue McKenzie?’

‘Yes,’ said the woman, surprising Matilda with the deepness of her voice.

‘Detective Sergeant Matilda Kennedy, please may I come in?’

The initial jovial welcome vanished in an instant, the woman’s calm appearance fading into a look of panic and dismay.

‘Is it Jeffrey? Dear God, tell me what’s happened. It’s not one of the children?’ The woman’s deep voice had been replaced by a high pitched squeal close to hysteria.

‘Let’s go inside Mrs McKenzie. It’s about your friend Moira Sackville.’ Matilda put her hand on the woman, whose body trembled.

‘Moira? What’s happened?’

‘Let’s go in.’ She followed the woman into the immaculate space of her house. All gleaming polished wood floors, and white walls adorned with original paintings. Mrs McKenzie led her through to a large living room. Two patterned sofas sat next to each other, creating an L shape.