Dead Lucky

by Matt Brolly

  ‘Devlin, around the back. Take one of the uniforms with you.’

  Devlin nodded, and summoned one of the uniformed team.

  ‘Right, let’s get this door open.’

  Lambert nodded over to one of the uniforms who held a weighted battering ram. The man walked over at an eager pace, seemingly revelling in his job. He felt the door for the lock and told everyone to stand back. It took only one hit and the door flew open, a wave of stale air rushing out at them.

  ‘Check upstairs,’ he told Kennedy. ‘You, with me,’ he said to a uniformed officer.

  ‘What are we expecting to find, sir?’ asked the constable.

  ‘Just be prepared.’

  The house was immaculate. The pristine white walls of the hallway were adorned with family photos. In one picture, two figures he presumed were Mr and Mrs Patchett were surrounded by the Dempsey clan. Laura, and her now dead husband and children looked back at him smiling, forever caught in a happy memory.

  The first door they came to led to an open space. It looked as if two rooms had been knocked into one. A large kitchen area with dark granite surfaces led to a beautiful oak dining table. Lambert pictured the Sunday lunches and Christmas meals, the happy times the family would never see again. There was no sign of a disturbance and for a moment Lambert’s mood lightened. It was possible that his hunch had been wrong, that both parents were away, oblivious to the tragic news which awaited them. The uniformed constable moved through to a side door which led to an oval shaped living room. At the end of the room, sliding glass doors looked out onto a surprisingly large garden area. Lambert was about to open the doors to see what awaited them in the garden when the sound of Matilda Kennedy’s voice called to him from upstairs.

  Chapter 19

  The familiar stench of blood drifted towards him as he rushed the stairs. He thought about the first crime scene he’d ever experienced, that of his university friend Billy Nolan, and the litany of dead bodies he’d seen since then, and realised the smell had never left him.

  Kennedy stood on the upstairs landing, a pale-looking DC Walker next to her. ‘Through there,’ she said. ‘We haven’t gone in yet.’

  Lambert peered through into a room thirty years out of date. Thick, flowery wallpaper adorned the walls, pink velvet curtains trapping the semi-darkness in the room. Lambert pulled on a latex glove, and switched on the light. A queen-sized bed took up most of the floor area. Beneath an ancient-looking duvet, soaked in blood, sat two figures. The lifeless corpses of Laura Dempsey’s parents, Mr and Mrs Patchett, slumped against the headboard as if they were relaxing on a Sunday morning. The figure of Mrs Patchett was collapsed against her husband. Careful not to disturb the crime scene, Lambert didn’t enter the room. One look at Mr Patchett’s wrists was enough to confirm his fear.

  At the end of the bed a curved wooden chair faced the murdered pair, as if they were being surveyed by a ghost.

  ‘You were expecting this?’ asked Kennedy. She stood behind him, her breathing a beat more rapid than normal. ‘How?’

  Lambert retreated from the scene. ‘Walker, secure the house and call the SOCOs. Start organising house-to-house interviews. I want to know everyone who came and went in the last forty-eight hours.’

  Walker went to protest but one look at Lambert convinced him otherwise.

  Lambert waited until Walker had left before speaking. ‘After you told me about Mr Dempsey senior, it got me thinking. Laura doesn’t have any siblings. Her only living relatives were her parents. I thought about Sackville, how with his wife dead and he had no family left. Laura still had someone, or so we thought.’

  Kennedy let the information sink in. He wished he could tell her about the conversation with the killer, but he’d understood the hidden threat in the killer’s words.

  ‘So you think the killer’s objective was to kill the families of Sackville and Dempsey?’

  Lambert nodded. ‘He wants them to be alone. They both have no one left.’

  ‘Jesus. Why?’

  Although he was sure it was a rhetorical question, Lambert thought the question highlighted a sense of naivety in Kennedy. It came with age. She was only in her mid-twenties and despite the things she’d no doubt seen in her time, she still clung onto a level of innocence. It wouldn’t be long before that had been completely destroyed. He would have told her to cling onto it for as long as possible, but it was not for him to comment.

  ‘It may or may not be significant. He might have some sort of grudge against them both, or he might just like the power he feels from wiping out a family line. It’s what we need to find out.’

  Kennedy shivered as if dragging herself back into reality. The naïve girl disappeared, and the professional police officer returned. The SOCOs arrived and they left the house. Walker had organised the uniforms well and the area was full of activity.

  ‘I’ve also called the team looking after Laura. She’s still out of it,’ said Kennedy, a few minutes later.

  ‘We’ll need to speak to her, sooner rather than later, before we tell her about her parents. She may not be able to give us anything meaningful, but we need her to try.’

  ‘I’m trying to get my head round the motive on this. Could it just be coincidence? Maybe he kept Eustace and Laura alive as a witness to his work?’

  Lambert shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. There would be no real reason to kill her parents. No one was there to witness the parents’ deaths. I think it is the ultimate punishment. A very specific, calculated punishment. Murder is final, but this… Just think what Eustace and Laura will have to live with. Not only the death of their immediate family. She had to watch her children be murdered in front of her for Christ’s sake. That is the last memory of her children and her husband.’

  Kennedy’s face was flushed, droplets of sweat fell from her brow onto her cheeks like tears.

  ‘Sackville and Dempsey must be linked somehow. We need to get them together,’ said Lambert.

  Kennedy swayed on the spot, hesitating as if she wanted to say something.

  ‘Everything okay?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘Yes, I’ll go assist Walker.’

  Lambert noted the way Kennedy almost spat out her colleague’s name. ‘Good. Oh, and Kennedy, could I have your car keys?’

  It was strange being back at the driving wheel of a car again. The last time he’d driven, he’d rolled the car and had awoken in a ditch. Two years before that he’d crashed his car whilst driving Chloe. He told himself that if he experienced any sign of tiredness, he would pull the car over. He wouldn’t take the risk again.

  The A/C was on full blast. Lambert gripped the steering wheel and tried to organise the random thoughts swarming his mind. It was a horrendous way to think of it, but the murder of Mr and Mrs Patchett would enable him to eliminate some suspects, and would narrow down the search. It was vital now that he speak to Laura Dempsey.

  London did not respond well to heatwaves. It was such a rarity that people never modified their behaviour to account for the heat, save for the shedding of clothes. Cars jammed the roads, and pink bodies swarmed the pavements making the most of the blistering sun. Lambert stopped at a set of traffic lights. His phone rang, and he fiddled in his pockets until he located it. The screen told him it was an unknown caller. Lambert took a deep breath and accepted the call. A beat cop crossed the road in front of him. He looked at Lambert on his phone, and looked away pretending he hadn’t seen anything. Lambert put the phone on speaker and stuck it on the dashboard.

  ‘Lambert.’

  ‘I’m impressed. Much quicker than I’d anticipated.’

  ‘Did we disrupt you?’

  ‘You weren’t that quick,’ said the voice.

  Lambert concentrated on the sound of the voice, searching for any clue to its source. The man was well spoken with no discernible trace of an accent.

  ‘I just ask as there was no witness this time.’

  ‘There was a witness.’

  The lights turned green,
and Lambert edged the car forward. ‘I guess it would be too easy to ask what your motive is?’

  ‘I think you know, Mr Lambert. I’ve been reading up on you. As I said before, I think we are more similar than you can imagine. Even more so now.’

  ‘Now? We’re nothing alike, you sick fuck,’ said Lambert, regretting losing his temper.

  ‘I’m not sure your victims would feel the same way.’

  Lambert gripped the steering wheel tighter, and swung the car into a left-hand turn. ‘I don’t have any victims.’

  ‘You’ve killed before.’

  Lambert couldn’t contain the adrenaline which peppered his bloodstream. He knew where the conversation was leading. It would make sense to hang up but he wanted the killer to let slip. ‘I have only killed in the line of duty.’

  ‘Sanctioned murder.’

  ‘This isn’t going anywhere.’

  ‘You don’t deny it.’

  ‘I have never murdered anyone,’ said Lambert, hating himself for getting into an argument.

  ‘Technically you have. You purposefully set out to kill someone, and you succeeded.’

  Lambert had killed two people on duty. ‘I’m not sure where you think you’re getting your information, but I have only killed in the line of duty in self-defence. As I recall, I haven’t tied anyone up and bled them out over a number of hours whilst a loving family member was made to look on.’

  ‘Semantics. You had your reasons, and I have mine.’

  ‘I take it by what you say that you’re not finished?’

  ‘Why stop, when there’s so much to be done?’

  The road had cleared, and Lambert put his foot down as if he were in pursuit. ‘I’ll stop you, you…’

  ‘Michael you’ve already lost one daughter. Don’t risk losing another.’

  Lambert threw the phone on the car floor as the killer hung up. The threat could not have been any clearer. He thought of nothing else as he drove the rest of the journey to the hospital.

  Laura Dempsey was staying at the Royal Free Hospital in North London. As with Eustace Sackville, she’d been kept under guard by two officers, though Lambert was sure she wasn’t in imminent danger. Everything that could have been done to her had already happened. He imagined that in her current state death would be a welcome diversion.

  The air conditioning of the hospital was a welcome respite to the heat outside. Lambert felt the sweat drying as his skin cooled. Laura was being kept in a secure room on the eighth floor. Lambert was pleased to find one of the officers guarding the entrance to the ward, the second positioned outside Dempsey’s room. ‘DC Shah, we meet again.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Shah getting to her feet.

  ‘Take a load off, Constable. Where are we with Mrs Dempsey?’

  ‘She’s not in a great way, as you can imagine. They keep sedating her. Every time she comes round, she freaks out, pulls at the drip and has to be held down. It’s not pretty.’

  ‘It can’t happen again. I need to speak to her. Who’s in charge?’

  ‘Sister Reece administered the shot last time. Dr Hughes is in overall charge. I believe she’s left for the day.’

  ‘Already?’

  ‘She had to consult at another hospital. Sister Reece’s office is down the hallway.’

  He found Reece sitting behind a counter with two nurses. They were reading through a number of medical files and from the snippets Lambert overheard, were working out the timetable for the next day. None of them paid Lambert any heed.

  Lambert withdrew his warrant card and laid it on the counter. ‘Sister Reece?’

  The nurse finished her conversation before looking up at Lambert. ‘Yes,’ she said, speaking with the confidence of someone who knew her own importance.

  ‘DCI Lambert. May I speak to you about Laura Dempsey?’

  Reece sighed. She had a round face framed by a straight black fringe. Her small, narrow eyes were set deep into her face. ‘We are having a meeting,’ she said.

  ‘And I’m trying to conduct a murder investigation.’

  She shook her head as if he was being unreasonable. ‘Sally, take over please. Follow me,’ she said to Lambert, walking to the back office. ‘Close the door behind you and take a seat.’

  ‘Laura Dempsey,’ said Lambert.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What can you tell me about her current situation?’ Lambert was struggling to keep his temper in check. He couldn’t understand what the woman was trying to achieve by being so obtuse.

  ‘You’ll need to speak to Dr Hughes, I’m afraid.’

  Lambert had been around hospitals long enough to know just how important the nurses were to the successful running of the wards. How at times they wielded as much power, and knowledge, as some of their more qualified colleagues. ‘She’s under sedation?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Do you have any idea when she is likely to come round?’

  ‘When we take her off the meds,’ said Reece, as if she was talking to a simpleton.

  ‘It is imperative that I speak to Mrs Dempsey today,’ said Lambert, ignoring the jibe.

  ‘Not going to happen today.’

  Lambert involuntarily clenched his fingers. It would happen today, he thought, even if he had to take the drip out of Dempsey himself. ‘It needs to happen today. There have been some developments.’

  The woman relented. ‘Look, I understand the situation but you’ll have to speak to Dr Hughes. I don’t have the authority, and I can’t risk Mrs Dempsey’s health. I’m afraid Dr Hughes won’t be back until tomorrow.’

  Over the years, Lambert had normally found the medical profession to be helpful. They always had their own agenda, which he could respect, but generally they would assist as far as they were able. ‘You know why she is under guard?’

  ‘None of my business.’

  ‘I’ll take that as yes. What you didn’t know is that we have just found Mrs Dempsey’s parents. They were also murdered, in the same way as Mrs Dempsey’s husband and children. There is a very real danger that this killer will strike again and Laura may have information that would prove vital to apprehending this killer. Now, are you happy living with the fact that another murder might be down to your unwillingness to let Mrs Dempsey help us? Are you happy being complicit in the murder of another family, of more children?’ It was excessive, but Lambert had reached breaking point.

  Reece rubbed her face. ‘I’ll need to get it signed off.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting outside her room.’

  Dr Hughes had clearly attended a different public relations class to Sister Reece. Twenty years the nurse’s junior, she welcomed Lambert with a smile. It was over an hour later. ‘I understand the situation, DCI Lambert, but I must stress that Mrs Dempsey is not in a fit state to deal with these questions.’ Hughes had a soft voice, lilted with an almost melodic Geordie accent.

  ‘I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t necessary. People’s lives are at risk, and Mrs Dempsey may help us prevent further deaths. I’m sure she wouldn’t want this to happen to anyone else.’

  ‘Let me check on her, and I’ll let you know.’

  Lambert peered through the door, surprised to see Laura Dempsey sitting up in her bed.

  Hughes returned ten minutes later. ‘I’ve spoken to Mrs Dempsey. The rest has done her some good but she is groggy. I can give you a few minutes.’

  ‘Can I tell her about her parents?’

  Hughes pinched her nose. ‘I think we should leave it for now. I’m taking her off the tranquilisers. Let’s see if she rests, and then we can tell her. She’s had no visitors. Is there anyone you can contact for her?’

  That was the whole point, thought Lambert. ‘We will speak to her friends. We’ve had to keep this very low key.’

  Hughes nodded. ‘Five minutes.’

  Lambert signalled to Shah to accompany him. Dempsey was still sat up in bed, her vacant eyes staring at the wall. The room was claustrophobic, a low ceiling with a small rectangul
ar window covered by a beige set of blinds, the whistle of air conditioning the only sound in the confined room.

  ‘Mrs Dempsey. My name is DCI Michael Lambert. This is DC Shah. I am very sorry for your loss. Please rest assured that we are doing everything possible to catch the person who did this.’

  Laura’s head moved an inch, a rush of air escaping from her nose.

  ‘I’m so sorry to have to ask you this, but please could you tell me what happened.’ Even as he said it, he realised how absurd the words sounded. He was asking a mother, and a wife, to describe the slaughter of her family.

  Laura visibly recoiled at his words, as if the memory of that evening was being replayed in her mind. ‘He killed them all. One by one,’ she said, her voice a dry rasp. ‘He made me watch.’

  ‘Did you see his face?’ asked Lambert, remembering his training, trying to rid the situation of emotion.

  ‘Mask.’

  ‘I know this is a dreadful question, but can you think of why someone would do this to your family?’

  She recoiled again, her body starting to tremble. Shah moved over to the woman and held her arm. Laura looked at her as if she was a mirage. ‘No,’ said Dempsey.

  Lambert could only imagine how excruciating his questions were for her but knew he had to continue. ‘May I ask, has your husband had any trouble recently? From customers perhaps, or business contacts?’

  ‘Everyone loves Sam.’

  ‘And you? Would anyone have a grudge against you, Mrs Dempsey?’

  Laura turned her head an inch, her eyes darting upwards then at Lambert. She didn’t answer. Lambert was desperate to know what she was thinking. Her eyes started to water, and he imagined the idea that she was to blame may never have occurred to her.

  ‘Do you know someone called Moira Sackville?’ he asked.

  She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears.

  ‘How about Eustace Sackville?’

  A less experienced observer would have missed it, but Lambert saw a flicker of recognition before she shook her head again. He was about to ask again when Dr Hughes returned. ‘Right, that’s enough,’ she said, in her Geordie lilt.