LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘A member of Inspector Wright’s team did, sir, but by all accounts he wasn’t making any sense.’

      ‘Who’s the doctor in charge?’

      ‘Dr Nitesh Patel. I’m afraid he’s gone home,’ said the constable, surprising Lambert by blushing.

      ‘He’s been sedated,’ added the other constable.

      ‘Great.’ It was five a.m. and the only witness to Moira Sackville’s death was comatose. ‘I need to know the exact second he wakes or the doctor makes an appearance. Do not let anyone other than medical staff into that room. Clear?’

      ‘Sir.’

      Lambert walked the streets looking for somewhere to buy coffee. He found a petrol station with one of the newer coffee machines which used real beans. He called Kennedy, wincing as he sipped the bitter liquid.

      ‘Everyone is ready at the incident room,’ she said.

      ‘Ok, I’m going to delay the meeting until Sackville is lucid. Any news on the CCTV?’

      ‘There are two cameras on the front of the Sackvilles’ building, and more along the street. We’re going through the footage now but I’m afraid it’s a busy place. Lots of people coming and going.’

      ‘You don’t need to be told to search for anything unusual. Focus on people who have to be buzzed into the building rather than those who have keys, though don’t rule anyone out. Hopefully we’ll know more when I speak to Sackville.’

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 One of the uniformed constables had been replaced by a plain clothes officer.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

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