Dead Lucky (12 page)

Lambert thought about Eustace Sackville all alone in the flat he’d once shared with his wife. He forgot all about Robinson and fled the building.

Chapter 18

The road was littered with cars but there was not a taxi in sight. Lambert scanned up and down the road, desperate for the sight of a black cab. As he waited he called Devlin and found the address. He told Devlin to arrange for backup and to let Kennedy know if she was in the vicinity. A hundred yards down the street a black cab was dropping off two occupants. Lambert sprinted across the road, narrowly missing an oncoming cyclist. As he approached the taxi he watched in dismay as a young couple climbed in the back. He upped his pace and reached the cab before it pulled away. He yanked open the passenger door and, breathless, took out his warrant card. The couple looked at him as if he were insane.

‘Let’s have a look at that, mate,’ said the man, a spiky-haired youth dressed in shorts and a pink t-shirt, well-worn flip-flops dangling off his feet.

‘Get out of the cab,’ said Lambert.

‘Can’t we come along too?’ asked Flip-flop’s companion.

‘No. Out, be quick about it.’

‘Bloody disgrace,’ said Flip-flop, as they both clambered out the door. The spiky-haired youth gave Lambert a glare he thought was menacing and stood next to his girlfriend holding hands as Lambert climbed in.

‘You know I don’t have to take you anywhere,’ said the driver, glaring at Lambert from his rear-view mirror.

‘I’d appreciate your help on this,’ said Lambert, inwardly sighing at the loops he was going through just to start the journey. ‘I’m on a murder investigation and I need to get somewhere urgently.’

The driver screwed his face up and made an elaborate show of turning on the counter. Lambert told him the address and they set off.

‘Don’t they supply you guys with cars any more?’

‘Take any route you want,’ said Lambert, ignoring the question. ‘You can go through red lights as long as you’re safe. Just get me there as quick as you can.’

‘Yeah right, you say that now, but when the tickets come in you’ll be nowhere to be seen.’

‘For pity’s sake, just drive,’ said Lambert.

The driver rushed through a yellow light but was soon caught up in traffic. Lambert leant back, his jacket sticking to the faux leather seat. He was sure they had been going about it all wrong. He thought back to what the killer had said to him on the phone, about Eustace and Laura being alone, and sighed at the amount of time that had been wasted. Eventually the car pulled up outside the residence. Two squad cars were waiting and Lambert was surprised to see Matilda Kennedy already at the scene with Walker and Devlin. The driver tapped at the figure on the counter. Lambert pulled out some cash and gave the driver a generous tip.

‘Where we at?’ he shouted over to Kennedy as he exited the car.

‘We haven’t tried the door on your orders. We made several phone calls to both their mobiles but it goes to voicemail each time.’ Kennedy edged close to him as they walked up the stone steps to the house. Her face was flushed, the heat radiating off her.

‘Do you mind me asking what we’re doing here, sir?’ she said.

‘It’s just a thought. It came to me after you told me about Mr Dempsey’s father. I just hope they’re on holiday or out for the day.’

He rang the doorbell. They were at the home of Laura Dempsey’s parents, Mr and Mrs Patchett. Lambert opened the letterbox and called their names. He squinted through the narrow gap for any sign of disturbance. He rang the doorbell and banged on the door again. No answer.

‘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.