Читать книгу Dead Lucky - Matt Brolly - Страница 13

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 One of the uniformed constables had been replaced by a plain clothes officer.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.