Letter From The Dead - a crime thriller (Detective Inspector Declan Walsh Book 1)

by Jack Gatland

‘I don’t know why,’ Declan said with mock seriousness. ‘Baker might be PM, but Andy’s besties with God.’

  The woman’s face brightened at this.

  ‘He is, isn’t he?’ she gushed. ‘Anyway, I must dash, Seb didn’t come in today so I’m doing everything right now.’

  ‘Seb?’

  ‘Sebastian Payne. Our intern. To be honest, he’s a little bit rubbish. Don’t really know why we took him on.’

  Declan smiled. ‘Yeah, we have someone like that too.’

  Nodding a farewell he walked across to the large, iron gates and tapped the number he’d been given into the door, opening and walking through the gate, entering the complex’s cobbled stone courtyard. There was a Land Rover beside the main entrance; it had ‘God’s Will TV – the voice of the Lord on YouTube’ written on it in golden letters. Declan smiled.

  Obviously God loves a four by four as well.

  Walking to the main entrance, he buzzed for entry.

  Andy Mac was sweating when the buzzer to his door went, trying to move an industrial ‘flight box’ to the door. It was a black metal box with aluminium edges, hinged on one side and locked on the other, four wheels on the base to help it spin around. Usually full of LED ring lights, lighting cloths and tripods, Andy had borrowed it from the studio a couple of weeks back to film some ‘at home’ segments for the show and had left it in a corner of the apartment until he could be bothered to return it. Which was now a blessing as the tripods, lights and cloth were all on the floor now, leaving the box empty.

  Well, that wasn’t completely true. The bloodied body of Sebastian had been pushed and crumpled inside it, the lid closed and locked.

  Andy didn’t know what to do with the box; he was working in stages. Stage one was to clear the murder scene up. Stage two was to find a way to remove the body. People saw Andy with these boxes all the time, so it wouldn’t raise any concerns. All he had to do was get it into his Land Rover and, while driving home to Avebury find somewhere remote to bury the damn thing.

  If it could even be buried.

  But now the buzzer had gone.

  Declan stood at the door patiently; he could hear movement.

  ‘Hold on!’ a voice shouted out. ‘I’m just coming!’

  There was a clicking of locks and then Andy Mac himself stood in front of Declan, out of breath and in grubby looking gym wear.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asked.

  Declan pulled out his ID again, flashing it open. ‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘DI Walsh. I’d like to ask you some questions.’

  Andy Mac visibly paled at this. ‘What sort of questions?’

  ‘Do you mind if I come inside?’ Declan asked.

  ‘Do you have a warrant?’

  ‘Do I need one?’

  Andy stepped to the side. ‘Of course not, come in,’ he smiled.

  As Declan entered, he saw that the hand that had opened the door, the one unseen until now was bandaged, blood visible through it.

  ‘Bad wound?’ he asked. Andy looked at his hand.

  ‘Oh, just a glass broke. Cut me. All fine,’ he said, the smile returning, bringing Declan into the room while indicating an indoor spin bike at the end of it. ‘Sorry for the sweatiness. I was on my spin bike.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ Declan said, looking around. The place was spotless but there was a strong smell of bleach. It reminded him of the examination room back at Temple Inn.

  ‘Everything alright?’ he asked. ‘You have an issue with your drains?’

  ‘Oh no, that’s me,’ Andy laughed. ‘I thought I could fix my hand here rather than A&E, bled all over the bloody place. Been cleaning it up for hours.’

  Declan noted the case. There was blood on the handle.

  ‘You might want to clean that too,’ he said.

  Andy saw the marks and immediately ran over, squirting on the blood with a spray and vigorously wiping.

  ‘Sorry, but I’m a bit of a germaphobe when it comes to blood,’ he said.

  ‘Really? I thought you’d be okay with blood,’ Declan said.

  Andy paused. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked slowly.

  ‘Well, with the whole ‘the wine is my blood’ and all that,’ Declan said, pulling out his notebook and opening it. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to keep you long. I want to talk about a murder.’

  Andy turned, leaning on the case as if his legs had given way.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said apologetically. ‘Legs like rubber. Spin class can do that.’

  ‘If you need to sit we can sit,’ Declan finished. ‘I’d like to ask you some quick questions about Victoria Davies.’

  ‘Victoria?’ Andy replied, stunned. ‘Victoria Davies?’

  ‘Yes,’ Declan said, watching Andy carefully. He looked as if he was a drowning man being thrown a lifeline.

  ‘Well what would you like to know?’ Andy replied, all smiles now as he walked over to the sofa, all sign of his rubber leggedness now gone. ‘Please, sit.’

  Declan did so.

  ‘We have new evidence in her murder,’ he said. ‘Evidence that shows that Victoria had access to the office that you, Shaun Donnal and Charles Baker shared.’

  Andy didn’t say anything for a moment, as if his brain simply hadn’t caught up to his mouth.

  ‘That’s a part of my life I prefer not to talk about,’ he said.

  ‘The murder?’

  ‘No, my time in Westminster. Those two men were toxic, and I was trapped with them for years.’ Andy’s tone was darkening now, his anger building. ‘When Charles back stabbed us all and jumped ship, Shaun was furious. Never worked out why. Probably all Socialists together.’

  ‘Baker was a Socialist?’

  ‘Closet one, yes,’ Andy was warming to this now. ‘Those two were always conspiring against the leadership. Shaun even tried to create his own group inside the party. You know, like those people Corbyn had.’

  ‘Momentum?’

  ‘Yeah, just like that. Never worked and Blair cottoned on, so it all fizzled out.’

  ‘Why didn’t it work?’

  Andy smiled. ‘The finances disappeared when Michael Davies found him sleeping with Victoria.’

  ‘And Baker was involved in this too?’

  ‘If he was, he was very good at keeping it out of the news.’

  Declan wrote this down in his book. Charles Baker and Michael Davies had been a lot closer than he’d realised.

  ‘And you knew Victoria?’

  ‘We all knew her,’ Andy said. ‘And yes, I mean that in a biblical sense. It was before my marriage, I’m not proud of it, but the bloody woman slept her way through half of Parliament.’

  ‘Were you the father of the baby?’ Declan asked. Andy stared at him in horror.

  ‘Christ no!’ he said. ‘We’d stopped screwing around about a year before her murder. And besides, I always wore a condom.’

  ‘Do you know who the father was?’ Declan asked. Andy shook his head.

  ‘I know it wasn’t Michael’s. He had the chop. Seedless as a Jaffa orange. But honestly, it could have been anyone’s. She put herself around a lot. But if I had to guess, I’d say Shaun’s. They were a thing at the end.’

  ‘Thing?’

  ‘An affair in every sense of the word,’ Andy said. ‘Both claiming that they were going to leave their significant others when there was no way they would.’

  ‘You don’t think they could have done that if she’d survived?’

  ‘Not until the election was over,’ Andy said, thinking about it. ‘And doubtful, considering Shaun and married women.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning she wasn’t his first marital affair, and I’m supposed to be answering questions, not spreading gossip.’

  Declan nodded, writing in his notebook.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Just a couple of things and then I’ll get out of your hair. Can you think of anyone other than Michael who might have wanted her dead?’

  ‘Only every MP she screwed,’ Andy sai
d. ‘She was toxic to them.’ He thought. ‘Oh and Michael’s PA. She bloody hated Vicky. And probably the whole board of Devington Industries. Weirdly, Vicky dying and Michael being convicted was the best thing that happened for them.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because Susan Devington turned out to be a better businesswoman than her sister.’

  Declan wrote this down. ‘Did you get on with Susan?’

  There was a moment of silence, as if Andy was trying to work out what to say, or what to lie about.

  ‘Yes,’ he simply replied. Declan knew there was something more here.

  ‘I met her for the first time today,’ he said. ‘She’s intense, but powerful, you know?’

  Andy nodded. ‘She’s a force of nature, that one.’

  ‘You see her much now you’re out of Parliament?’

  Andy shook his head. ‘No, but one thing I will say in an attempt at transparency here, is that Susan was an early backer in God’s Will TV.’

  ‘Really?’ This surprised Declan. ‘Any idea why?’

  ‘Because she probably believes in the power of Jesus Christ and the eternal life given by dedication to the Lord’s work,’ Andy replied. And Declan knew that this was probably the most genuine answer he’d been given this whole interview. He placed away his notebook.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I recognise you now,’ Andy said. ‘I spoke about you recently, didn’t I?’

  Declan nodded. ‘The priest in Hampstead.’

  ‘Yes. I was harsh on you,’ Andy said. ‘Nothing personal. I have to placate my viewers. Personally, anyone who does that to a dog deserves a smack in the mouth.’

  ‘That’s appreciated,’ Declan smiled. ‘I know it was a long time back, but do you remember where you were at the time of the murder?’

  Andy was staring off, mumbling softly.

  ‘They showed me it…’ some unintelligible words ‘…broken necklace...’

  Returning quickly to the present though, Andy shook his head, as if clearing a bad memory.

  ‘What was that?’ Declan asked.

  Andy looked horrified, as if unaware that he’d spoken out whatever he was thinking aloud.

  ‘Nothing. Sorry. Old sermon came to mind. Where was I? Oh yes, I said this back when I was interviewed then,’ he explained, ‘I have a complete blank of the night from about eleven thirty.’

  ‘You were blackout drunk?’

  ‘Probably more pills and pharmaceuticals, but yeah.’ Andy looked ashamed. ‘They found me in the billiard room, asleep under the table.’

  ‘Sounds like it was a wild party.’

  ‘Back then every day was a wild party for me. It was one of the reasons I had to get out. I mean, I have memories of the night during that time, but they’re things that people told me after, you know? My brain just slots them in.’

  Declan nodded, writing this down.

  ‘Finally, did you ever know of someone called Sarah?’

  ‘Sarah…’ Andy thought back. ‘I mean, it was twenty years ago… I think there was a Sarah who used to be in the offices. Sarah Hinksman. Was MP for somewhere small and pointless. Was always in the office next to us. Why?’

  Declan smiled. ‘Just dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s,’ he said, looking at the TV cabinet. Leaning over, he picked up the YouTube award.

  ‘I’ve seen these before,’ he said, looking at it. ‘You know, some people show them on their channels. It’s impressive.’

  ‘Well, it’s no BAFTA, but we don’t crave awards when we do God’s work,’ Andy replied. Declan nodded, replacing it.

  ‘It’s dented,’ he said. ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘All things break, DI Walsh,’ Andy said, turning on his ‘preacher’ voice.

  Declan smiled, rising.

  ‘Thank you for your time. Do you need help with that box?’ he said, indicating the flight box at the door. ‘I mean with your hand and everything—’

  ‘No, it’s all fine,’ Andy said, walking over to the kitchen counter. As he did so, Declan saw something poking out from underneath the television cabinet. Snatching it up, he quickly pocketed it before Andy returned, all smiles, a small plastic Jesus in his hands.

  ‘For you,’ he said. ‘The police do God’s work. And maybe looking at it might curb your temper the next time you meet someone of the Clergy.’

  Declan took the figure as Andy started ushering him to the door.

  ‘Anyway, must dash, I need to freshen up before my show today. And I still haven’t been sent my script yet.’

  Declan was about to tell Andy that he’d been told that Sebastian hadn’t arrived yet and that this might be the reason for the delayed script, but he found himself already in the corridor, the door closed.

  He walked away from the door, ensuring he was out of sight of any peep hole before he pulled out the scrap of paper he’d picked up.

  It wasn’t paper at all; it was a small photo, old and folded in the middle. A woman with black short hair was on a bike beside a country gate. Declan didn’t know if it was important, but Andy Mac had been nervous. About what, Declan had no idea. But he was going to find out.

  After he spoke to Susan Devington.

  11

  To The Manor Bourne

  Declan had seen Devington House in photos, and he remembered it being on the news at the time of the murder but he had never been there, had never witnessed the size of such a building until he pulled up outside it.

  It was as stereotypical an ‘English Stately Home’ as you could find; large, sprawling gardens, a circular gravel drive with a decorative fountain in the middle and stone steps leading up to an enormous wooden door under a marble arch, on top of which sat a Lion and a Unicorn. The sun was out, and as Declan exited his car he could see it not only reflecting off the golden stonework, but also off the giant floor to ceiling windows that were the mainstay of the façade of the building; twelve windows running along each floor on the front of the house, with easily as many on the rear of the building and along the sides.

  The building itself was flat roofed, and three stories high; however the second floor looked to be of a double height, judging from the higher windows along it. Declan assumed that this was probably some kind of ballroom floor. And this also made the building technically the equivalent of four, or even five stories in height. Added to that, there were two parts of the house, almost like towers, that jutted out slightly from the wall, culminating on another layer of turret at the top, each one with two large windows within. Declan knew from the images he’d seen that there were two identical ‘turrets’ at the rear of the house making four in total, as if supporting the building within them.

  He started towards the main entrance but paused as an old man in a tweed suit came running out, brandishing his walking stick as some kind of weapon, waving it in the air as he approached.

  ‘No no no!’ he said angrily. ‘Tradesmen enter through the side gate!’

  ‘How do you know I’m a tradesman?’ Declan asked, trying to keep the amusement he saw in this wild haired old man out of his expression. The man stopped, eyeing Declan up and down.

  ‘And what else would you be?’ he almost sneered with arrogance. Declan looked back to the car Monroe had given him. It was a ten year old Audi A4 in a dark, metallic grey. A functional car. A cost effective car. Declan could see why the old man had made such a decision. Reaching into his pocket, Declan pulled out his warrant card, showing it to the man.

  ‘I’m looking for Susan Devington,’ he said. The man leaned in, peering at the warrant card.

  ‘A Detective Inspector?’ he asked. Declan nodded. The old man sniffed.

  ‘They could have at least sent a Detective Chief Inspector,’ he muttered. ‘People will talk, you know.’

  ‘Is she in?’ Declan ignored the jibe, forcing his face to stay expressionless.

  ‘She’s busy,’ the old man said, turning away and walking back to the house. ‘Come back tomorrow. Or maybe call ahead for an app
ointment.’

  ‘Tell her it’s the one she liked,’ Declan shouted out after the man, who now paused in the driveway.

  ‘Christ, I suppose you’d better come in then,’ the old man grumbled. ‘Wait in the hall and I’ll see if she has time for you.’

  Declan followed the old man into the house, looking up to the roof just to the right of it. Twenty years ago, Victoria Davies fell to her death from there.

  For a moment, he thought he saw a figure standing on the roof, watching him; but then it was gone. Shaking himself to return to the present, Declan straightened his shoulders and entered Devington House.

  The house itself was as beautiful inside as it was outside; the stone walls were overlaid with thick red tapestries, while the floor was a black and white marble checkerboard pattern. Marble busts of Roman emperors stared at Declan as he waited in the hallway, while the old man walked up the stairs that faced Declan as he entered, turning into one of the side rooms to the right. After a couple of moments he returned, reluctantly waving Declan up.

  Declan walked past the emperors and climbed the marble staircase, its bannisters gilt edged with gold designs. There was a smell of mustiness, though; as if the giant windows that ran along the side were never opened to allow air into the building.

  There was a grunt and a crashing sound in the room that the old man was pointing to; Declan almost broke into a run, his police instincts kicking in, but as he reached the top of the staircase he saw what the noise was.

  Susan Devington had turned part of the ballroom into what looked like a Dojo; a large rubber floor was placed onto the floor to supposedly stop any scratches or marks, and Susan stood in the middle of it, waiting for her opponent to strike.

  The opponent was a young man, early twenties, and with the physique of an athlete rather than a bodybuilder. This was someone fast and agile, his brown hair cropped short to match the stubble on his cheeks. He wore a black Gi, the style of clothing worn by martial artists, a black belt tying it together.

  But it was Susan that caught Declan’s attention.

  She wasn’t dressed in a Gi, but instead in a two piece spandex fitness top and pants, the same style that he’d seen so many women wear while working out in the gym. Out of the business suit though, her physical power was easily visible. She was stocky, but toned and muscled, like an MMA fighter or a CrossFit champion. This wasn’t a weak woman, in either body or mind. Declan needed to remember that.