Letter From The Dead - a crime thriller (Detective Inspector Declan Walsh Book 1)

by Jack Gatland

  Declan’s face obviously showed confusion so Monroe pointed at Billy’s monitor. The face of Shaun Donnal, bearded and dishevelled, taken from what looked like an ATM camera was currently on it.

  ‘Seems Mister Donnal was a naughty boy last night,’ Monroe explained. ‘Got into a fight with another homeless man in Soho when he was recognised.’

  ‘Why do we have Donnal on a screen?’ Declan asked. ‘We only had his name given to us ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Blame Trix,’ Monroe said. ‘Call came in, looking for someone to take it on and she accepted it. Only bloody time she’s answered the phone. Yet here we are and here he is.’

  ‘Someone recognised him looking like that?’ Anjli commented.

  ‘Man by the name of Minty,’ Billy said, pulling up an image of another, older homeless man, taken from a hospital bed. ‘We’ve yet to work out his real name. Claims that when Donnal was Welfare Minister, or at least in the department, one of the bills they voted through lost Minty his house.’

  ‘Christ, what a shock that must have been for him,’ Declan mused. ‘To become homeless and then find the very man you blame sharing the doorway with you.’

  ‘Soup kitchen, actually. Seems that Minty recognised Donnal, but he ran off. Minty then hunted around for him, finding him around eighteen hundred hours on Dean Street, outside the Natwest Bank.’

  ‘Making a deposit?’ Anjli joked. Monroe raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Actually, you might be closer than you think,’ he said. ‘Apparently Minty saw Donnal at an ATM and was convinced that he was withdrawing money with a debit card.’

  ‘Homeless people have those these days?’ Declan asked.

  ‘Not usually. But our little Billy here matched the time of the incident with Natwest’s ATM CCTV, and we found that Mister Donnal was doing something there. We can’t see what it was yet though, and Natwest are being slow in giving us any data.’

  He looked to Billy, who was already opening up another folder on the screen.

  ‘Show them the other footage,’ he said.

  Billy tapped on his keyboard and an image appeared on his monitor screen; a black and white CCTV video of two men arguing. Then one seemed to repeatedly hit the other, letting him slump beside the bank before running off.

  ‘Stabbing?’ Declan asked, watching the scene a second time. Monroe nodded.

  ‘Multiple times, all in the stomach,’ he said. ‘Minty claimed that he held the weapon up afterwards, said that if our man told anyone he saw him, he’d return and finish the job. Apparently it was a long stem flat head screwdriver with a sharpened edge. Poor wee sod didn’t even feel the injuries until five minutes later. Then he apparently screamed like a bugger until the ambulance arrived.’

  Anjli peered at the screen.’ It’s blurry,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a low resolution image taken from a cheap CCTV from down the street,’ Billy replied.

  ‘Can you enhance it? You know, zoom in and clear it up like in the films?’

  Billy gave Anjli a withering stare.

  ‘Sure,’ he said in a deadpan tone. ‘I can zoom in, enhance the image, stick it in photoshop, make them look like Tom Cruise and Bruce Willis, add an alien ship in the sky…’

  Anjli held up a hand. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I was just making a suggestion.’

  There was a ping from Billy’s computer and he turned back, tapping on the keyboard. A series of spreadsheets appeared on the screen.

  ‘Looks like Natwest came through with the data,’ he said, bringing up a document onto his screen. ‘Shaun wasn’t using his own card. That’s where the issue was. It was a card registered to a Sally Donnal.’

  ‘His wife?’

  ‘Daughter, I think,’ Anjli was already searching Google on her phone.

  ‘Interesting thing though, the account is barely used,’ Billy said, his screen now filled with account transactions. ‘Every now and then she deposits fifty quid in, and then—’

  ‘He removes it by card,’ Declan finished, reading the spreadsheets. ‘The moment he does, she adds another fifty. She’s funding her father. Ensuring he has spending money. This isn’t a homeless man we’re looking at here; Shaun Donnal’s not on the streets because of circumstance, he’s hiding from something.’ Declan looked back to the crime wall.

  ‘Or someone.’

  ‘We need to get the daughter in,’ Monroe said, looking to the doorway. ‘Oh, hello.’

  Declan turned towards the door to the offices to see a woman standing there, suited men either side of her. She was in her forties; her clothes were expensive, her strawberry blonde hair pulled back. She looked every inch the businesswoman she was known for being.

  Susan Devington.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me popping up,’ she said to everyone, not focusing on any one person in the room. ‘I was told you had some property of mine.’

  It took Declan a moment to realise what she meant, but Monroe understood immediately.

  ‘We do, Miss Devington,’ he said, walking towards her. ‘But currently it’s evidence in a murder enquiry.’

  ‘It’s Ms Devington,’ Susan snapped, ‘the little things are so important, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Yes, Ms Devington,’ Monroe agreed reluctantly ‘And as I was saying, it’s evidence…’

  ‘In a murder enquiry that was finished up two decades ago, with the murderer being sentenced to life, if I recall correctly,’ Susan replied, her tone authoritative, unused to not getting her way. ‘Or did I mishear the judge when I sat in the gallery?’

  ‘Michael Davies was indeed charged and sentenced,’ Monroe nodded. ‘But the letter we recently received gives an impression that other people may have been involved.’

  ‘Show me it,’ Susan held her hand out, as if expecting Monroe to have it on his person. Declan didn’t move, very aware that he currently held the envelope.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s currently at another department, off site, where they’re checking for prints,’ Monroe lied skilfully. ‘We can show you a scan of what it says though, if you and your security guards would like to come through into my office?’

  ‘These aren’t security, they’re my solicitors,’ Susan nodded to the two men at her side. ‘I never travel without them these days.’

  ‘In my experience, only guilty people bring solicitors with them to a police station when they haven’t been asked to,’ Declan said. He didn’t mean to speak it aloud, but speak it he did. Susan turned, looking to him.

  ‘Name?’ she asked.

  ‘Detective Inspector Walsh.’

  ‘Well, Mister Walsh—’

  ‘Detective Inspector Walsh,’ Declan interrupted. ‘As you said, the little things are important here.’

  For the first time since she arrived, Susan smiled.

  ‘Oh, I like this one,’ she said to the solicitor on the left. ‘We don’t need to sue him.’

  ‘There’s no need to sue anyone,’ Monroe interjected, walking between Susan and Declan. ‘As soon as we get the letter back, we’ll send it straight to you. I’m the Detective Chief Inspector here, in charge of the case. I’ll send it personally.’

  Susan thought about this for a moment.

  ‘I want it in progress by the end of the day,’ she said.

  Monroe nodded. ‘I’ll ensure the forensics team works as fast as possible.’

  He looked to the Interview Room.

  ‘Perhaps while you’re here, we could have a small chat about that night?’

  ‘I don’t dwell on past things, and I wasn’t even there,’ Susan said, looking to her solicitors and nodding. ‘We’re done here.’

  And with that, she started towards the door.

  ‘Ms Devington?’ Declan stepped forwards. ‘Please, if you could answer one small thing?’

  Susan paused at the doorway. ‘What?’ she asked, not even turning to face Declan.

  ‘In the letter, your sister claims that she could be murdered, and that it may have happened before,’ he said. ‘I
wondered if you knew anything about this?’

  ‘My sister was known for her histrionics,’ Susan said, still looking away. ‘And her paranoia knew no bounds. Sarah died in an accident.’

  And with that she left, her two solicitors walking out with her.

  Monroe looked to Declan. ‘Quick thinking,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Billy replied. ‘What was quick?’

  ‘Susan turned up expecting a fight,’ Declan said. ‘She wants the letter and she’s willing to throw the full force of the law on it. And I reckon we’ll get pressure from elsewhere too.’

  ‘But here’s the thing,’ Monroe continued. ‘We were passed the letter through internal communication. Before us, nobody outside of a couple of desk officers in Derby had even read it.’

  ‘It’s one thing knowing that the letter exists,’ Declan said with a smile. ‘But to know that the name Sarah is used in it? We never mentioned that.’

  A smile of realisation passed across Billy’s face.

  ‘She’s read the letter,’ he said.

  Monroe shrugged. ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ he replied. ‘But one thing’s for sure. Even if she hasn’t read it, she knows what’s in it. And I’m very interested in how she found out.’

  Declan looked to Billy, who shook his head.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘I know what you’re thinking; that Billy and Susan probably move in the same circles, what with his family being, well, stupidly rich. But I’m not part of that circle. I was pretty much kicked off the party invite list when I took down my uncle in a crypto Ponzi scheme.’

  ‘It’s why he’s Billy and not William,’ Anjli added. ‘His family also hate him because he’s gay.’

  Billy looked at Anjli with a hurt expression.

  ‘What?’ she replied. ‘It’s not a secret that you are, and it’s certainly not a secret that they hate you because of it.’

  Billy shrugged. Monroe looked at the crime board.

  ‘DS Kapoor, go chase up anything you can on these three new suspects. I want to know what they were doing, who they were talking to, who hated them, anything you can find. DI Walsh, go to Teddington Lock Studios. I think you should have a chat with Andy Mac. Once you’re done there, go chase down Susan Devington and have a chat with her too.’

  ‘Why me?’ Declan asked.

  ‘Because she likes you,’ Monroe smiled. ‘DC Fitzwarren, find out anything you can on Holmes 2 about the cold case.’

  ‘I preferred the first one,’ Trix said from the canteen area. ‘The sequel sucked.’

  Everyone turned to look at her.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘Where the hell did you come from?’ Monroe asked.

  ‘You told me to make some tea,’ Trix replied, pointing at the kettle. ‘Tea.’

  ‘That was an hour ago!’ Monroe exclaimed, half amused. Trix shrugged, returning to her phone.

  ‘Well, I’m more used to pods than these bags,’ she said. ‘You should get a machine in. You could take it out of my wages. You know, if you paid me.’

  ‘She’s not wrong,’ Monroe replied. ‘Well, apart from the film thing. We’re not talking about the movie, girl, we’re talking about the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System. The second one, anyway.’

  ‘Large Major Enquiry?’ Trix sniffed. ‘Sounds like someone was trying to make the letters fit Sherlock Holmes.’

  ‘Well of course they were,’ Billy said. ‘That was deliberate. A program and a machine that can work through case files and bring you answers, named after a great detective.’

  ‘So like Google then.’

  Monroe sighed, giving up on the conversation as he looked to the paper on the table. It wasn’t a Daily Mail, but it still had a picture of Charles Baker on it.

  ‘DS Kapoor,’ he said softly. ‘When you check into their pasts, look into any connections between Devington and Baker.’

  And with that he walked back into his office. Declan followed him in, closing the door. Monroe looked up from his desk

  ‘Did we forget something, laddie?’ he asked.

  ‘Sorry sir, but I… I needed to speak to you,’ Declan said. ‘It’s about my father.’

  ‘Of course,’ Monroe sat down, waving for Declan to do the same. Declan stayed where he was, standing in the middle of the office.

  ‘Ah, it’s one of those conversations,’ Monroe muttered.

  ‘I think my father was murdered,’ Declan said. ‘And I think I know why.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He was writing a memoir of his time on the force. Had written a memoir, that is. There are pages of it by his desk,’ Declan started. He didn’t know how much to tell Monroe right now, but this seemed to be a good start.

  ‘The bloody fool,’ Monroe sighed. ‘He just wouldn’t let things lie.’ He looked at Declan.

  ‘We put away some murderous bastards in our time, lad. And if he’s been writing about them, some of those bastards might take offence. Johnny and Jackie Lucas, for a start. So what do you want to do about this?’

  Declan took a deep breath. He expected to be shot down here, but he had to try.

  ‘I want to find out who killed my father, and put them behind bars.’

  ‘Just that? No revenge fantasies?’ Monroe watched Declan carefully. ‘Because I didn’t bring you in here so you could go all John Wick on the criminal fraternity.’

  ‘I just want justice,’ Declan replied. ‘But currently it’s just me, and when you’re looking at things like this alone you start to feel like a bit of a conspiracy theorist.’

  Monroe chuckled. ‘I think we have enough conspiracies here right now. But bring me the book, let me have a read through. I’ll let you know my thoughts.’

  ‘I’m not sure if the book still exists,’ Declan replied. ‘I mean, there’s a manuscript there but I haven’t looked at it fully. And I don’t know my father’s password to get into his iMac.’

  ‘Try Declan Son, all one word, capital D and the e is a 3 and the o is a zero,’ Monroe suggested with a smile. ‘it’s the one he always used here.’

  Declan nodded, a small pang of guilt rising. Declan Son. He’d always felt that his father had been dismissive of him. Now it seemed that he was more proud than he let on.

  And Declan would never be able to speak to him about it.

  ‘Now bugger off and find Andy Mac,’ Monroe said. ‘I want this bloody case off my desk as soon as possible.’

  Declan smiled and nodded. ‘Thanks, sir.’

  ‘Declan,’ Monroe said as Declan was about to leave. ‘Thanks for telling me.’

  Declan nodded and left the office. He would find his father’s killers. He knew it.

  But first he had another case that needed attention, and a preacher to interview.

  10

  The Guilty Always Sweat

  Teddington Lock Studios had once been a series of studio buildings owned by movie giant Pinewood, and in its time had filmed shows for the BBC, ITV, Channel 4 and 5 and even Sky TV. It had started when stockbroker Henry Chinnery had allowed filmmakers to use his greenhouse as a studio at the turn of the century, leading to an actual building being built in 1910. It housed movie sets throughout its life, but in the 1950s it was recommissioned into a television studio, of which it stayed until around 2015 when it was closed and demolished, making way for a new development of homes, apartments and small office studios where architects and designers now worked on the same land that decades earlier stars like Errol Flynn had stood.

  Declan stood outside one of these small offices; on a small, white painted board outside it read a list of inhabitants. An architect, a designer and God’s Will TV.

  I suppose YouTube doesn’t need much studio space, Declan thought to himself as he pressed the buzzer. After a couple of moments a bespectacled young woman appeared at the door.

  ‘Can I help?’ she asked. Declan flashed his ID.

  ‘DI Walsh, here to speak to Andrew MacIntyre,’ he said. The woman frowned.

  ‘What
’s it about?’ she asked.

  ‘Is Andrew here?’ Declan replied.

  ‘Is he in trouble?’ the woman continued.

  Declan sighed. ‘Are you Andrew MacIntyre?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ the woman sniffed.

  ‘Then why would I talk to you about it?’ Declan gave his most serious, police-like expression. The woman’s attitude changed. This was obviously something important.

  ‘He’s not here right now,’ she said, opening the door. ‘You’re welcome to have a look, but it’s only two floors and a large office space that we use to film in.’

  ‘For all the money he makes, I thought this would be bigger,’ Declan said as he stood on the doorstep. He didn’t need to enter the building if Andy Mac wasn’t there.

  ‘The joy of TV,’ the woman laughed, now happy to talk about her own world. ‘The camera makes all things look exciting. And saying ‘Teddington Lock Studios’ gives us an air of history.’

  ‘Is that legal though?’

  ‘Well, we’re a studio, we’re at Teddington Lock and nobody else has that name here, so yeah, pretty much.’ The line was spoken with the confidence of someone who had answered the same question many times.

  ‘Do you know where he is?’ Declan asked.

  ‘Probably at his apartment, he’s always tired after the Holy Ghost comes through him.’

  ‘Yeah, I can see that,’ Declan nodded. ‘You have an address?’

  The woman pointed across the road, to a large block of apartments. ‘He has a place in that one there,’ she said, writing down a number and passing it to Declan. ‘Number fifteen, second floor. That’s the gate code. He’s not in any trouble, is he?’

  ‘Why would you think that?’ Declan asked. The woman shrugged.

  ‘He’s been out of sorts recently,’ she said. ‘I’ve worked with him for five years now, but he’s been having family issues. Not spending that much time at home. And there’s the Baker thing.’

  ‘Baker thing?’

  ‘Charles Baker. The MP. He’s going to be the next Prime Minister, and they used to room together. Andy’s a little jealous, I think.’