LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘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

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