Merciless: a gripping detective thriller (DI Kate Fletcher Book 2) Page 3

  Her hand went automatically to the ghost of the wound in her side, an instinctive testing that she had healed and that the scar was just a memory.

  Hollis looked across at her as he changed gear. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ Kate said, taking a deep breath. ‘First time back here since last summer, that’s all.’

  ‘Same for me,’ Hollis said, reminding Kate that she wasn’t the only one with a scar. He’d also suffered at the hands of a killer, even if his own scars weren’t physical.

  The privet hedges were still green in defiance of the recent frosts but the other trees on the estate were skeletal. The pavements looked dried out as if the winter cold had sapped moisture from the cement, and the roads were covered with swathes of orange-brown salt that the council scattered to prevent accidents. Kate remembered that, when she’d been a child sliding on the snow in these streets, the ‘grit-lorry’ had been an open-backed truck with two men with shovels on the back. They scattered salt across the roads using only muscle power and, if they saw that the kids had made a slide, they gritted that as well, despite the wails of protest. It didn’t snow much anymore, though; the grit was more a precaution than a necessity.

  ‘Left here,’ she said to Hollis as they approached the short row of shops that served the estate. They’d changed almost beyond recognition, Kate noted, as Hollis turned into a wide street and parked the car outside the address that Kate had been given. The off-licence cum sweetshop of her childhood was a Chinese takeaway and the greengrocer’s had been knocked through into what had been a wool and fabric shop to create a mini-supermarket. The bus shelter at the end of the row was a modern Perspex one, not the concrete structure she remembered. The graffiti looked much the same, though.

  The house they were visiting looked like most of the others on the estate. Red brick with white uPVC windows and a tidy garden. Unlike the ones to either side which had lost most of their front gardens and hedges to block-paved drives to accommodate a family car, Dennis Lambert’s house still retained a privet hedge and a functioning gate. Two vans and a liveried police car were parked outside neighbouring houses, and Kate was almost certain she could feel the faint breeze of curtains twitching as she pushed open the gate and climbed the short flight of steps to the front door.

  She pressed the bell and stepped back. An overall-clad figure opened the door and Kate was surprised to see another member of her team blocking her way.

  ‘Barratt? I thought you’d taken a couple of days’ leave.’

  He stepped outside and pulled down his hood, running his hand through his thinning fair hair. ‘Swapped it. I was in the office when the call came in about this case so I legged it over here.’

  Typical of the DC, Kate thought. He was keen but had a bit of a tendency to go rogue if she didn’t keep him in check by giving him very specific instructions. She could imagine him dashing out of the office before any other members of the team could come in and stake a claim. She would have put money on Raymond having no idea where Barratt was or what he was up to.

  ‘You didn’t think to let me know you were on duty? That you were here?’

  He hung his head like a scolded puppy. ‘I rang through but you were in an interview. Left a message for the DCI but I don’t know if he’ll have got it.’

  It sounded like an excuse but it was perfectly plausible. Kate had been in an interview and Raymond wasn’t always the easiest person to communicate with. Kate didn’t envy anybody on the switchboard trying to tell him anything that he deemed to be irrelevant or unimportant.

  ‘What’s going on in there?’ she asked, nodding towards the front door.

  ‘SOCOs have finished doing their thing. I think everybody’s getting ready to leave.’

  ‘Any sign of violence, a struggle?’

  Barratt shook his head. ‘Bedroom smells a bit unpleasant but that’s probably to be expected, the state the old bloke was in. Otherwise nothing unusual.’

  They were interrupted by the door opening. Two members of the forensics team pushed past, carrying heavy steel cases of equipment. They were followed by another member of their team laden with evidence bags.

  Kate flashed her warrant card. ‘Okay to go inside?’

  The female colleague looked her up and down as though she were assessing Kate’s suitability for an exclusive club. ‘Should be. We’re done. Wear shoe covers, though,’ she said, gesturing towards a cardboard box next to the door.

  Kate followed her instruction and stepped into the dimly lit hallway. It wasn’t quite four o’clock but the days had only just started to get longer and there wasn’t much light coming through the narrow windows at the top and bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Barratt!’ Kate called. ‘Walk me through it.’

  The DC pushed past Hollis who had remained in the doorway and, eager to show off what he knew, he started babbling. ‘Kitchen’s through there. Living room…’

  ‘I know the layout of these houses,’ Kate said. ‘What happened where?’

  Chastened, Barratt tried again. ‘The father was in the main bedroom, at the front of the house. It looks like the daughter was sleeping in the back room. There were lots of her clothes and stuff scattered about.’

  Kate climbed the stairs slowly, picturing the location of the upstairs rooms. She followed the landing round to the front bedroom and stood in the doorway surveying the scene. There was a musty smell cut through with the faint, acrid tang of urine. The dark wood wardrobe and chest of drawers were closed and the carpet was worn and dusty, making the whole room seem neglected. The bed was unmade, a cheap wooden frame with a sagging, stained mattress. The pillows and duvet were missing, obviously removed by the forensics team.

  ‘What was on here?’ she asked, pointing at the empty bedside table. It was the cleanest thing in the room apart from the tell-tale grey patches of fingerprint powder; the wooden surface looked recently dusted, and there were no rings or stains from cups or bottles.

  ‘Drugs, tissues, a glass, a bottle of whisky.’

  ‘What sort of drugs?’

  ‘Some tablets and a bottle; tranquillisers and liquid morphine apparently. The whisky was Ardbeg.’

  Kate stared at him checking whether he was being facetious but his face was serious. He was giving her as much detail as he could.

  ‘Was the bedside table this clean?’ she asked, noting the layer of dust on the dressing table and the chest of drawers.

  Barratt leaned round her to get a better look. ‘I suppose so. The SOCOs dusted for fingerprints but I doubt they cracked out the Pledge when they’d finished.’

  Kate scanned the room again but nothing was jumping out at her. Nothing looked out of place or unusual. It made sense that the bedside table would be clean, it was the only piece of furniture in use, besides the bed. She turned and went to the back bedroom – the one matching her room in her father’s old house a few streets away.

  A double bed had been pushed against one wall, the duvet neatly covering the bottom sheet. The curtains were still drawn and the bedside lamp was on, fighting the deepening darkness.

  ‘Was this light on when you got here?’

  ‘This light was on and the one in the front bedroom. There was a suitcase full of clothes and some make-up and bits and pieces. SOCOs took the lot.’

  On into the spotless bathroom. A few feminine toiletries were scattered along the windowsill above the sink, and a grapefruit-scented shower gel hung from the soap rack in the shower. The only signs of Dennis in this room were an electric shaver and a dried-out toothbrush that looked like a washed-up sea creature on the side of the sink. Kate opened the laundry hamper that lurked beneath the sink. Empty.

  ‘SOCOs took everything. There were some clothes of hers and some soiled sheets. They took the ones from his bed as well.’

  ‘What about in there?’ Kate asked, pointing to the closed door of the ‘box’ room at the front of the house. She knew that it was big enough for a single bed and not much more. Her sister had occupied
the same room in their childhood home. ‘Anything?’

  ‘It looks like it’s being used as a junk room,’ Barratt said. ‘A few old bits of furniture, a couple of broken vacuum cleaners, a small desk. All covered in dust like the room hasn’t been used in years.’

  He led the way back downstairs to the kitchen. Again, Kate could see nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to contradict Caroline Lambert’s story. The kitchen looked to be in need of modernisation but at least it was clean. The appliances looked relatively new but more functional than fashionable.

  ‘Anything in here?’ Kate asked Barratt.

  ‘A couple of packets of paracetamol and some codeine. The codeine were on prescription in Dennis Lambert’s name. Another bottle of whisky and one of gin in the top cupboard. Both open.’

  Kate walked over to the window and peered out into the garden. She could just make out the shapes of a couple of grassed over flowerbeds, a shed and a greenhouse.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I think I’m done. Barratt, we’ll catch up tomorrow.’

  She joined Hollis at the front door and slipped off her shoe covers, shaking her head at Hollis.

  ‘Her story adds up,’ she said. ‘So far. Let’s see what forensics and the PM turn up.’

  She opened the door and had to take a step back. In front of her was a large elderly woman who looked like she was going to knock the door down with her raised fist.

  ‘About time,’ the woman spat at her. ‘I was hoping they’d send you. We need to talk.’

  4

  The woman introduced herself as Brenda Powley – Dennis Lambert’s ‘friend’. It was obvious from her intonation that friend was a euphemism and that their relationship had been something more at some point. She’d invited Kate and Hollis into her house – diagonally opposite Lambert’s – and installed them in her cramped sitting room while she made hot drinks.

  As soon as she left the room, Hollis mouthed, ‘What the hell?’ Kate shook her head, as baffled as her colleague.

  ‘Right, here we go.’ Brenda bustled back through the door laden with a tray, which she placed on the coffee table that nestled between a reclining chair and the faded, flower-print sofa where Kate and Hollis were sitting. Brenda passed coffee to Kate and tea to Hollis and offered chocolate digestives which they both refused. Food usually led to a more prolonged stay and Kate didn’t want to spend time listening to idle gossip.

  Deep wrinkles carved into Brenda Powley’s face placed her in her seventies, but her grey eyes were lively and alert. As she settled into her seat, her head like an oversized egg atop a nest of chins, she looked from Kate to Hollis and then fixed her gaze back on Kate.

  ‘I’m glad they sent you. I heard what you did for Anna Godwin and that other family. She said that you’re from round here, that you understand what folk on this estate are like. I suppose you’re wondering what this is about?’

  ‘I assume it’s something to do with the death of Dennis Lambert,’ Kate said, taking a sip of her coffee. Instant and much too sweet. Brenda sighed and her face clouded with grief for a second before her eyes narrowed in anger.

  ‘Death. Is that what you’re calling it? Murder more like. I can’t see any other reason why that daughter of his turned up. I only rang her to let her know he’d had a bad turn and ended up in hospital. Thought it was the decent thing to do. Got her number from Dennis’s address book. I didn’t expect her to come back.’ Brenda’s tone was defensive as though she somehow blamed herself for what Caroline had done.

  Kate sat up straighter in her seat and noticed Hollis pull his notebook out of the pocket of his suit jacket.

  ‘Murder?’

  ‘What would you call it? Dennis was fine a couple of months ago.’ She waved a hand at Kate, probably anticipating an interruption. ‘Oh, I know he had cancer but he was doing well. He only ended up in the DRI because he had some pain and I had to call an ambulance. He could still get out and about, and the doctors said he might have another six months. Then she turned up. Five minutes later, Dennis is laid up in bed and then he’s dead.’

  ‘What exactly are you accusing his daughter of?’ Hollis asked.

  Brenda turned to him, an incredulous look on her face as though she couldn’t believe that he didn’t see events exactly the same way.

  ‘Well, I think she did away with him. Wouldn’t let me in the house, said I wasn’t family and this was a family matter. Like she’d ever bothered before. Do you know, I’ve not seen her for more than twenty years? And then she just turns up after I rang her. Called it her duty. Said she was going to look after him in his final days. A bit late to start caring if you ask me. Why hadn’t she bothered before?’ Her chins wobbled in indignation.

  Kate had hoped that this woman could add some background but it appeared that she was angry that she’d been kept away from her ‘friend’ in his final weeks and wanted to convince them that Caroline was a murderer. A fact that Caroline had freely admitted a few hours earlier. They were getting nowhere.

  ‘What sort of man was Dennis Lambert?’ Hollis asked, pen poised above a blank page of his notebook suggesting that her answer was of the utmost importance. Kate was reminded again why she enjoyed working with the young DC. His instincts for people were spot on and that included an almost uncanny ability to read her own moods.

  ‘He was lovely,’ Brenda said, and her pale, grey eyes drifted to a point on the wall above the cluttered mantelpiece as she remembered. ‘Despite everything he’d been through he always had a smile on his face and a kind word for everybody.’

  ‘What he’d been through?’ Hollis prompted.

  Brenda frowned. ‘You don’t know? His daughter disappeared over thirty years ago. His other daughter that is, Jeanette. Went out one night and never came back. Nobody ever saw her again. Drove his wife, Irene, half mad with grief and worry, it did. I wasn’t in the least bit surprised when she did what she did.’

  Kate and Hollis remained silent, forcing Brenda to continue.

  ‘Killed herself. Took a load of sleeping pills and washed them down with gin. Mind you, she’d been drinking a lot for years. Probably addled her brain even more. It nearly broke poor Dennis. He loved that woman. Really tried to help her get over what had happened. He re-did the garden for her – she loved flowers – put in a greenhouse so she could grow chrysanths, a little pond with some goldfish, everything. But none of it made any difference to her. Then, not long after her mum died, Caroline left. He never saw hide nor hair of her until a few weeks ago.’

  It was more background than Kate had anticipated but none of it was relevant to Caroline’s case.

  ‘I bet she said he killed himself,’ Brenda said. ‘She went out and when she got back, he’d taken an overdose. Is that it? Just like her mum?’

  ‘We can’t comment on an ongoing investigation,’ Hollis said.

  ‘Which is probably police code for “yes”,’ Brenda concluded.

  ‘As I said…’

  ‘I know, you can’t say anything but I won’t rest till I see her locked up for what she’s done.’

  Kate drained her mug and set it down on the coffee table, trying to send a clear signal that the conversation was over. It hadn’t added much to their understanding of Caroline’s motivation and it certainly didn’t contradict the statement that she’d made earlier.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ll take an old dear like me seriously,’ Brenda said, eyeing the mug. ‘But, if there’s anything you need to know about that family you come and ask me.’

  Taking that as their cue to leave, Kate stood up. ‘Thanks, Mrs Powley, You’ve been extremely helpful. We’ll be in touch if we need any more information from you.

  She allowed Brenda to lead them to the front door.

  ‘You’ll see,’ the older woman said as a parting shot. ‘There’s a lot more to this than you think.’

  ‘She certainly had it in for Caroline Lambert,’ Kate said, slamming the car door. ‘Unfortunately it doesn’t take us any further forward.’
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  Hollis put the car in gear and sighed.

  ‘If anything it just backs up what she’s already told us. She hasn’t even denied that she intended to kill her father.’

  Something was nagging at Kate. Something that Brenda had said. ‘So why did she come back in the first place? It sounds like they’d been estranged for years yet Caroline said that she was doing her “duty”. Why now?’

  ‘Guilt?’ Hollis suggested, leaning forward slightly as he navigated the winter-dark streets. ‘Maybe she relented and wanted to make amends before he died. Terminal illness can do funny things to people’s thought processes.’

  Kate wasn’t convinced. Why had Caroline stayed away so long? And what had happened to her sister? Curious, Kate took out her phone and texted Cooper, asking her to dig up the background to Jeanette Lambert’s disappearance. Her phone rang just as she was about to slide it back into her pocket. Raymond.

  ‘Fletcher? Got anything else on Caroline Lambert?’

  ‘No. A bit of background from a neighbour but nothing to contradict what she’s already told us.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘After you left she asked for a solicitor. She signed her statement and we charged her with assisting a suicide. The custody officer’s going to grant her bail if we’ve no reason to keep her.’

  ‘Not that I can see,’ Kate said. ‘Her story adds up. It looks like she left him with the means to kill himself and that’s what he did. The PM might throw up something else but I’m not holding my breath. I thought you wanted me to interview her again.’

  She heard Raymond sigh at the other end of the phone. It was a messy case in some ways. Kate had never dealt with assisted suicide before but it felt untidy. Usually she investigated a case, found a culprit and charged them. This was upside down. The killer had been charged but Kate still wanted to dig.

  ‘So the coroner agrees with the GP that there’s a need for a PM?’ Kate prompted.

  ‘Lambert had seen a doctor in the last couple of weeks but we have to verify the daughter’s story. Do you want to attend?’