Whether this meant anything was yet to be determined. ‘I take it we’ve requested CCTV footage from the surrounding areas.’
‘Yes, I’ve done most of your job for you,’ said Wright, adding a mischievous, ‘sir,’ as Lambert fixed him with a hard stare.
‘Thanks for your help, James. I’ll call if we need anything else.’
They shook hands and Wright left.
‘He seems happy about this,’ said Kennedy, deadpan.
‘Had any dealing with Eustace Sackville before?’ asked Lambert.
‘No. I did a quick check on the way over. He’s been a bit quiet recently. No articles that I can find in the last nine months. I checked with the paper and he’s still on staff,’ said Kennedy, brushing a loose strand of red hair from her face.
‘Initial thoughts?’ asked Lambert.
‘Presumptuous to look beyond Mr Sackville at the moment. No sign of a break in. I’d be interested to see the insurance policy on his wife. Could have been a poor attempt at suicide, could have been an elaborate set-up by Mr Sackville. Too many unknowns, as Tillman would say.’
Lambert was impressed by Kennedy’s quick thinking. Although she was an experienced officer, most of her previous work had been organised crime. She would have seen murder scenes before, but nothing like this. Tillman’s team didn’t generally get involved in crimes of this nature. Normally something like this would be left to the Met’s murder squads, or major incident teams. The Group had been formed to work on more covert operations, and since its disbandment Lambert had noticed their work was becoming more streamlined. Despite what Tillman had said about him being requested from above, it was hard not to feel that working on the case was some sort of demotion or, if not that, possibly a test to see if he was truly ready to return to work.
‘I’m going to see Sackville. Tillman is setting up an incident room. Get the team together for a seven a.m. meet, and liaise with DI Wright over the CCTV footage. I want to know about everyone who set foot in this building in the last twenty-four hours.’
Lambert caught a taxi back to the hospital. He sat in the back and listened to Eustace Sackville’s 999 call on his headphones again, searching for evidence that the man had been lying. His voice was whispered, but deep in tone. Lambert remembered Sackville as a smoker, and the years of nicotine had affected his vocal chords. ‘It’s my wife, she’s been murdered.’ The words were hauntingly simple, Sackville’s voice drained of emotion – as if the fight had left him.
The operator went through the preliminaries, ascertaining location and if the intruder was still there.
‘I watched her die,’ added Sackville. ‘He tied me up and made me watch her die. There was nothing I could do.’
The rest of the conversation, broken with sobs and a deep guttural coughing from Sackville, was unintelligible.
The hospital was even more desolate than before. Lambert wandered the labyrinthine corridors, trying not to think about Sophie who was asleep several floors above. He flashed his warrant card to the two uniformed police officers sitting outside Sackville’s room.
‘We’ve been told he can’t be interviewed until morning, sir,’ said one of the pair, a nervous looking officer who looked barely old enough to have completed his GCSEs.
‘No one’s spoken to him?’
‘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.’
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.
