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

by Jack Gatland

  ‘Sir?’ Anjli looked from Monroe to Declan in confusion.

  ‘Ach, you haven’t seen the Sweeney?’ Monroe was mortified. ‘It’s a police classic!’

  ‘It is a bit dated, sir,’ Declan admitted.

  ‘Well anyway,’ Monroe continued. ‘So John Thaw, that’s Regan although you probably know him as Inspector Morse these days, bloody kids that you all are, he’s captured and they force whisky down his throat. Entire bottle. And then they give him his car keys.’

  ‘You’re thinking that Andy Mac deliberately did this?’ Anjli looked horrified.

  ‘Susan Devington definitely thought so. I think we need to continue our chat with him soon.’

  Declan looked at the picture of Sarah Hinksman on the screen. There was something familiar.

  ‘Sir,’ he said, pulling out the folded photo from his pocket. ‘Remember the picture I said I found at Andy Mac’s?’ He opened it out, comparing the two. The one in his hand was a woman with a far shorter haircut, but it was definitely the same woman.

  Sarah Hinksman.

  ‘Maybe when we call him, we can ask him why he had a photo of a woman he barely remembered half hidden under his TV cabinet?’

  Monroe grinned. ‘Get that downstairs and see if forensics can sort anything from it,’ he said. ‘Although if it’s been in your jacket pocket, it’s probably just covered in lint.’

  ‘We have a forensics now?’ Declan asked, looking to Anjli. ‘I didn’t see anyone when I came in.’

  ‘They’re in later this morning,’ Monroe said. ‘Billy’s sorting it out now.’

  ‘How exactly is he sorting it?’ Declan was getting even more confused. Monroe sighed.

  ‘He’s getting them out of a police cell right now,’ he explained before looking back to the screen. ‘Some kind of misunderstanding, I’m sure.’

  ‘What happened to the baby?’ Anjli changed the subject. ‘I mean, Susan didn’t have anyone with her in the crash, and I can’t see her husband taking a bastard on as his own.’

  Declan looked at the notes he’d taken from Susan Devington.

  ‘Adopted, I believe.’

  ‘Aye, that’s right,’ Monroe was looking at his own sheets now, ‘she named him Sebastian. When Sarah died, Miss Wilson, that’s her assistant placed him into care when nobody claimed him. He was then adopted by another family shortly after.’

  Declan felt a cold wind run down his back.

  ‘The adopted family,’ he said, checking his notes. ‘Was the surname Payne?’

  ‘Why yes,’ Monroe looked to Declan now. ‘That’s a bloody good mind trick. Did that bash to your bonce give you mind powers?

  ‘When I went to see Andy Mac, his assistant mentioned their intern hadn’t shown up. She said his name; Sebastian Payne.’ Declan quickly counted on his hands. ‘Payne would be about twenty, twenty-one now.’

  Monroe didn’t speak for a moment.

  ‘Well that’s a rather large coincidence,’ he said eventually. ‘I think we need to have a chat with Andy again a lot sooner than we first thought. Maybe even bring him in here for questioning.’

  ‘Before or after Baker?’ Anjli asked, already rising.

  Monroe gathered up his notes. ‘Oh, I think we need to interview Charles Baker first. Find out what other secrets are going to appear. Then you can go find Andy Mac, have another chat, maybe see if you can catch this boy of Sarah’s too for a wee word.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Declan asked, almost jokingly.

  Monroe turned his steely blue eyes on him.

  ‘Aye, you can also find and arrest Shaun Donnal, who’s still on the run for assault and attempted murder, if you’d forgotten.’

  He waited, watching Declan and Anjli.

  ‘So what the hell are you both still doing here?’ he yelled. ‘Go be police!’

  16

  Halls of Power

  When he was a kid, Declan had visited the Palace of Westminster, or as it was more commonly known The Houses of Parliament with his school. While there, he’d gotten to visit the main chamber, the House of Lords, the Queen’s Robing Room (with the wooden friezes of scenes from Arthurian legend) and even spent time in the octagonal entranceway known as the Central Lobby, marvelling at the statues of Prime Ministers past. He’d even learned the origin of ‘it’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey’ from the kindly tour guide, an ex-military man who happily showed a painting in the hallway, one that stretched the entire wall and depicted a naval battle, explaining that iron cannon balls were placed on ‘monkeys’ back then, made from dimpled brass plates, but when the cold struck the brass would contract and the balls would fall off. Literally frozen off. Declan remembered his teacher not being happy with the old soldier for telling this, pretty much because her class were now shouting ‘balls’ at the top of their voices.

  It was weird what things you could remember.

  But even now, years later and with the authority of a police warrant card to get him through the strict security at St Stephen’s gate, he still felt like a small child as he stood in Westminster Great Hall, staring up at the high wooden rafters above him.

  ‘Do you need a moment?’ Anjli said, a hint of amusement on her face. ‘You look like you’re about to cry.’

  ‘Don’t you find this incredible?’ Declan asked as they continued along the hall, away from the main doors and towards a large stone staircase, leading up to a giant stained glass window.

  ‘Not really,’ Anjli admitted. ‘I come here every year for the Sherlock Holmes Dinner.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ Declan replied as dead-pan as he could. Anjli’s smile grew wider.

  ‘Hey, want to see something cool?’ she said, leading Declan away from the main route and towards the side. ‘See that spot there?’ she asked, pointing at a small brass plaque on the floor. ‘That’s where King Charles the First stood as he was sentenced to death. And over there?’ Another spot on the floor. ‘That’s where William Wallace was sentenced to death. And it’s believed that over there,’ again another spot on the floor, this time unmarked,’ is where Guy Fawkes, after attempting to blow up Parliament—'

  ‘Was sentenced to death?’ Declan asked as they walked up the stairs and towards a guard. ‘I’m seeing a pattern emerging here.’

  ‘Come on, Walsh, tell me you’re not a little bit excited by that. Monumental moments in history have happened in this room.’

  Declan watched Anjli as they showed their IDs again and were sent down a corridor to the left. This was the first time that he’d seen her actively excited by something. It was actually good to see.

  ‘It’s alright,’ he admitted reluctantly.

  In the Central Lobby, an aide, already alerted to their presence had appeared before they could speak to anyone and asked them to wait there for a brief moment; The Right Honourable Charles Baker was in session with some constituents right now before the day’s sessions began, and they were trying to wind this up while finding an appropriate place for the meeting. Declan knew that this was shorthand for they were trying to find a place where the press wouldn’t see that two police detectives wanted to have a word with the Tory heir apparent, and Declan and Anjli smiled and politely told the aide that yes, they would wait and yes, they understood that Baker’s parliamentary duties took priority right now and yes, if they were mucked around in any way they would quite happily walk over to the BBC camera crew beside the wall and loudly discuss the reasons for their visit while standing next to them.

  The aide disappeared swiftly after that.

  ‘I bet you know about this place, too,’ Declan said.

  ‘Only a little,’ Anjli shrugged. ‘Just that this is the core of the Palace of Westminster and was designed by Charles Barry as a place where both houses could meet.’

  She pointed off down two of the four corridors that branched off.

  ‘That way’s the House of Lords, that way’s the House of Commons.’

  ‘I could have guessed that by looking,’
Declan said.

  Anjli raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Okay then,’ she pointed at metal grilles in the windows surrounding the lobby. ‘There was a fire in 1834, right? After that they put these grilles in the Ladies Gallery, so that the MPs on the floor of the House weren’t distracted by the sight of women watching them work. It stayed like that until around 1908, when two Suffragettes chained themselves to one. After a vote almost ten years later, they were removed from the Ladies Gallery and placed here.’

  ‘Now that’s more interesting,’ Declan replied, mentally reminding himself to tell Jessica that when he saw her on the weekend. He was going to ask Anjli for more on this when the aide returned, hurriedly guiding them towards the fourth door from the Central Lobby, and the Terrace Cafeteria.

  As they entered the cafeteria – well, more exited as the terrace was outside, at the back of the Houses of Parliament and looking out across the Thames, they could see Charles Baker sitting at the furthest possible table from the entrance, almost as if he didn’t want people knowing he was there.

  An overweight man in a Hugo Boss suit interjected himself between Declan and Baker. He was early thirties perhaps, his hair cut short at the side and left long on top. It was a style that didn’t match his shape of head or body, and Declan wondered if this was deliberate, or simply the optimism of a man who hoped to ‘make it work’ somehow.

  ‘The Minister only has a couple of minutes,’ the man said. ‘So you need to be quick.’

  ‘I think you’ll find we’ll be exactly as long as we need to be,’ Anjli replied, already irritated with the man. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Will Harrison,’ the man said, a little put back by Anjli’s tone. ‘I’m the Minister’s advisor.’

  ‘Well then I suggest you advise the Minister to answer whatever bloody questions we ask,’ Declan pushed past Harrison and continued towards Charles Baker, ‘before we take you in for obstructing justice.’

  Charles Baker didn’t rise to greet them; instead he sat almost sullenly, sipping at an espresso as Declan and Anjli joined him at the table.

  ‘This is about Vicky?’ he asked. Declan nodded.

  ‘We’ve got new information in the case—’ he started, but Charles waved him shut.

  ‘Just ask the questions and get out of here,’ he said as he watched around the terrace. ‘Speaking to the police is political suicide around here.’

  A waiter walked over to the table. ‘Can I get any—’

  ‘They won’t be staying,’ Charles snapped. Declan held up a hand.

  ‘Actually, can I get some water?’ he asked, looking back to Charles. ‘Time for some pain killers. Never been able to take tablets dry.’

  Charles just glared at him. Anjli opened up her notebook.

  ‘Let me just make things easier for you,’ Charles said. ‘Yes, I was there that night. No, I wasn’t on the roof. I have witnesses who claim I was on the dance floor copping a feel with Lady Ashton as the fireworks went off. My statement is exactly the same as it was back then.’

  ‘You have witnesses?’ Declan frowned. ‘That’s an interesting way to say it.’ A line from Andy Mac’s interview popped in his head.

  ‘I have a complete blank of the night from about eleven thirty.’

  ‘Can you remember the party?’ he asked. Charles shrugged.

  ‘It was twenty years ago. I might have partied a bit too much.’

  ‘Blackout drunk?’

  ‘More a case of utterly exhausted.’

  Declan nodded, writing this down in the notes. ‘Did you know that Shaun was the father of Victoria’s child?’

  ‘No, but we all guessed it later,’ Charles sneered. ‘he couldn’t keep it in his pants.’

  ‘You didn’t think it was Michael’s?’

  ‘He couldn’t. He’d had the snip.’

  Declan read from his notes. ‘Susan Devington seemed to think that you might have stopped that from happening.’

  Charles Baker’s face darkened. ‘Susan Devington should mind her own bloody business.’

  ‘Did you know that Shaun was the father of Sarah Hinksman’s child too?’ Declan asked. Charles didn’t speak for a moment, as if thrown by the question.

  ‘What’s Sarah got to do with Vicky?’ he asked.

  ‘Just answer the question, Minister.’ Declan was tired of playing games. ‘Did you know?’

  ‘No,’ Charles’ voice was less assured now. ‘I mean, we knew she’d had a kid, but I assumed it was her husband’s.’

  ‘Did you see her the night of her death?’

  Again, Charles paused. This was definitely a line of questioning that he hadn’t expected.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied eventually. ‘We all did. She appeared like Marley’s sodding ghost at the Labour conference.’

  ‘Did you drink with her?’ Now it was Anjli who moved in.

  ‘No. She was deep in her cups with Andrew. MacIntyre, that is.’

  ‘Who you shared an office with.’

  ‘I’ve shared a lot of offices with a lot of people,’ Charles was managing to gather back his composure. ‘Doesn’t mean I was chummy with them all.’

  ‘You didn’t like Andrew MacIntyre?’

  Charles paused, as if working out how to answer.

  ‘Ah, sod it,’ he said. ‘Look. Andy was a chancer. He was in by the skin of his teeth. Likely to be voted out in the next by-election if he didn’t do anything. So, he hung on our coat tails.’

  ‘You and Shaun Donnal?’

  ‘Yes. But when Shaun went all conspiracy nut on us, he fell out with Andy.’

  ‘Because he believed that Andy killed Sarah.’

  Charles nodded. ‘Stupid sod. Andy wasn’t even alone with her. Bloody Michael and Vicky Davies were hovering around like papa and mama bear, terrified Hinksman would shit all over their leadership plans.’

  Declan paused as the waiter returned with his water. Michael seemed to be more involved with Andy than he’d let on. Taking a painkiller, he swallowed it with a mouthful of water before looking back to Charles.

  ‘How well do you know Susan Devington?’ he asked. Charles shrugged.

  ‘In passing,’ he said. ‘No, that’s not true. I was in love with her back then. She was a firebrand. And I was single, so you know.’

  ‘And she was the daughter of a millionaire.’ Anjli added.

  ‘No,’ Charles shook his head. ‘That is factually you’re right, but what you’re implying there is wrong. Susan had no way of getting to the family money, as Michael and Vicky controlled it after their father died. All Susan had was her trust fund, which kept her in money for her protests and activism. Sure, we had a fling, and it was fine while it lasted, but the moment she took over the company, she changed.’

  There was a moment of silence as Charles stared off across the Thames, as if remembering something bad.

  ‘I wasn’t good enough,’ he eventually finished. There was dark anger behind his tone, but as if realising he was giving too much away Charles straightened and smiled once more.

  ‘Anyway, losing her was the best thing that ever happened to me,’ he continued. ‘I met my wife, Donna, a year later and we’re very happy together. Susan and I have only communicated since then in a business manner.’

  ‘You do much business with Devington Industries?’ Declan asked, but Will Harrison had already made his way over.

  ‘I’m sorry but the Minister has a busy day,’ he said. ‘Anything else can be sent in writing.’

  ‘I have a couple more questions,’ Declan said.

  ‘In writing.’

  ‘I’m happy to shout them out to you as you leave,’ Declan added. Charles, already half rising sat back down.

  ‘Quickly then,’ he snapped. Declan looked back to his notes.

  ‘We have a source that says that Michael Davies was pulling his funding for the Labour Party,’ he started. ‘That he had been putting Shaun forward as a candidate for leader, but changed direction when he learned of the affair.’

&n
bsp; ‘So? That’s not news. It’s been out there for years.’

  ‘What wasn’t out there is that you had spoken to Michael too, offering your services as a replacement figurehead,’ Declan continued. ‘From our source, of course.’

  ‘Michael was a murderer and a liar,’ Charles said, standing up again. ‘He thought that he could be a player like the Murdochs and their kind, but he was nothing more than a failed estate agent playing with his wife’s money. The best thing that ever happened to Devington Industries was her death and his arrest. Just ask Frankie Pearce. Francine, I mean.’

  ‘The PA? I thought she’d be loyal to Michael, what with the alleged affair between them,’ Anjli wrote the name down.

  ‘That’s what everyone thought,’ Charles said with the hint of a smile. ‘But everyone has their price. And now I really must go.’

  Declan and Anjli rose.

  ‘Thanks for answering our questions,’ Declan said, passing Charles a card. ‘Anything comes up, if you remember anything—’

  ‘I’ll tell my solicitor,’ Charles replied. ‘And he will tell your superiors if required.’

  Declan nodded. He’d taken a dislike to Charles Baker at the start of the conversation, but now he full on loathed him.

  ‘One last thing,’ he said, waving at his battered face. ‘When we came in and sat down, when I asked for painkillers, you were looking at my bruises, at my injuries. But you didn’t say anything.’

  ‘Wasn’t my place to.’

  ‘Yeah, but people always do,’ Declan replied. ‘It’s small talk. ‘Oh, that must hurt…’ or ‘what happened…’ But you didn’t ask. Almost as if you already knew.’

  ‘Good day, Mister Walsh,’ Charles turned and walked away, already talking to Harrison as they left. Declan looked to Anjli.

  ‘When I saw Susan, she said Baker’s affection towards her was unrequited. But here he is now, happy to say they were having some kind of fling.’

  ‘To be honest, I think I’d be the same as Susan,’ Anjli replied as her phone beeped. ‘I mean, would you want people knowing you’d slept with Charles Baker?’