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

by Jack Gatland

  ‘There’s something else,’ Declan added. ‘Both Charles and Andy claim to be blackout drunk at the time of the murder.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s not suspicious in any way,’ Anjli pulled the phone out, reading the message as Declan moved to the other side of the table, pulling out a small, clear, Ziplock bag. Quickly, and with the minimum of fuss, he took Charles Baker’s now empty coffee cup, slipped it into the bag, sealed it, and placed it into his pocket.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Anjli looked up. ‘You can get souvenirs in the gift shop.’

  ‘Not with Baker’s DNA on,’ Declan replied. ‘And I don’t see him being the type to give us a swab willingly. And this is a public place, he just left it for us. So now what?’ Declan looked around the terrace. Even though it was almost empty, there were people still taking coffee there.

  And all of them were watching Declan and Anjli.

  ‘We return to base,’ Anjli replied. ‘Monroe’s called us back.’

  ‘Why?’

  Anjli showed Declan the message.

  ‘Because Sebastian Payne’s body was found in a shallow grave this morning.’

  17

  Gravesides and Roadsides

  ‘You can go a little faster, laddie. We are a police car, after all.’

  Monroe’s tone was terse, but at the same time his body language was relaxed as he sat in the passenger seat of Declan’s Audi. ‘This car is rubbish. Who gave you this car? You deserve a better car.’

  ‘Are you always this talkative while driving?’ Declan asked through clenched teeth as he undercut a white van in the middle lane of the M4. It was a two hour drive from Temple Inn to Marlborough, but currently Declan was aiming to get there in almost half that.

  Monroe shrugged. ‘I don’t get out much,’ he said. ‘I really should rectify that.’

  He’d been waiting for Declan and Anjli when they arrived back at the Command Unit; Anjli was sent with Billy to God’s Will TV to speak to Andy Mac and the crew who worked there, to see what else they could find out while Declan and Monroe drove to the scene of the crime; a small woodland area in the middle of a deserted Wiltshire forest.

  ‘Imagine the poor bastard,’ Monroe muttered. ‘There you are, gamekeeping a forest, think you see poachers, and the next day when you go to see whether they racked up any pheasants you find this.’

  ‘I don’t think there were any gamekeepers or pheasants,’ Declan replied. ‘I think it was a park ranger who was checking for doggers.’

  ‘Doggers?’ Monroe tutted. Dogging was a term used by people who liked to watch others have sex in public places, usually in cars in car parks or deserted clearings. ‘That’s not as good as my theory.’

  ‘No, Guv,’ Declan admitted, pulling the car off the M4 at the Hungerford junction, slowing down to turn left at the roundabout, the siren still blaring as the two blue lights in the car’s grill flashed intermittently.

  ‘Either way, it’s not a good thing for anyone to see,’ Monroe muttered again.

  Forest Ranger Marshall Judd had called the police mid-morning with his grisly discovery. The previous evening he’d been night walking, checking some badger dens in Savernake Forest when he’d seen a faint, artificial light though a clearing. Assuming it was someone up to no good, he’d picked up a stout stick and, with his equally as sturdy Maglite torch had made his way through the woods towards it. However, as he’d gotten closer the vehicle had pulled away, back out onto the trail that led off to the A346. Unable to see where the vehicle had been before the movement, and a little self-conscious that he was alone in a dense woods at night, Marshall had returned home, deciding instead to return to the clearing the following morning to check over the site.

  What he’d found when he did eventually return was the half buried and charred body of Sebastian Payne.

  He’d called the police and they’d examined the body, learning the identity through some half burned credit cards in the clothing. Declan had no idea how Monroe had found out.

  The trail itself was nothing more than a cart track, the ground muddy and uneven and after a hundred feet of careful driving, Declan pulled to the side behind two police cars that had obviously had the same issue. Getting out, Declan and Monroe started to walk the rest of the way, picking their way along the muddy track.

  ‘Well, there’s one thing we know already,’ Monroe said, looking up and down it, ‘there’s no way in hell they got down here in anything less than a four by four or a truck.’

  As they approached a clearing to the left, the tell-tale white tent of the forensics team could be seen, most likely over the grave itself to ensure less contamination of the site.

  Monroe pulled Declan to the side.

  ‘Now, this will likely be a Newbury region case, and their DCI hates me,’ he said. ‘And to be honest, I’m not a massive fan of hers, either. Either way, she’s going to scream bloody murder when we arrive. So keep quiet, look tough and trust me, okay?’

  Confused, Declan nodded as they made their way over to a bored looking policeman, standing guard at the edge of the track.

  ‘Sorry, nobody past this point,’ the policeman said.

  ‘DCI Monroe and DI Walsh. We’d like to see the dead man,’ Monroe waved his warrant card.

  ‘You’ll have to speak to the Guv’nor,’ the policeman replied. ‘I can’t let anyone through, no matter their rank.’

  ‘Then why don’t you get her then?’ Monroe raised his voice. ‘I mean, the nerve of this! A uniform barring the way of a Detective Chief Inspector!’

  ‘Excuse me,’ a forensics officer in full gear stepped past Declan as she made her way into the site, passing a furious looking battle axe of a woman in a white plastic forensics suit, her boots covered in blue booties that matched her blue latex gloves and her long grey hair only just restrained by a scrunchy, storming her way towards Monroe, now visibly smiling with delight.

  ‘Lenette!’ he exclaimed happily. ‘They’ve finally allowed you onto the big boy cases!’

  ‘Get off my crime scene and get out of my patch,’ the woman said, glancing at Declan. ‘Who’s your boyfriend?’

  ‘DI Declan Walsh, meet DCI Lenette Warren,’ Monroe said. ‘We need to look at Sebastian. Just a little peek, you know. After that, we’ll be gone.’

  Warren was still looking at Declan. ‘Another broken solider for the box of misfit toys,’ she said, more as a statement than a question. ‘What’s your interest in the victim?’

  ‘Purely personal,’ Monroe smiled. ‘Working my way through the alphabet.’

  Another white suited detective walked over. He was tall, built like a tree and easily several inches taller than either Declan or Monroe.

  ‘Problems, Ma’am?’ he asked. Warren shook her head.

  ‘DCI Monroe and DI Walsh were about to leave,’ she said.

  ‘Come on, Lennie! We’ve driven hours to be here,’ Monroe said. ‘Or are you hiding something? Walsh here is an expert in ferreting out corrupt coppers!’

  Declan inwardly groaned at this. And if DCI Warren was angry at the insinuation she kept it hidden well.

  The other detective however wasn’t so subtle.

  ‘I’ve heard about you,’ he said to Walsh. ‘Ratted on your own.’

  ‘I prefer to call it cleaned a Command Unit of corrupt police,’ Declan said. ‘And the only people who seem to have issues with it are ones who are worried that they’ll be next.’

  The detective moved towards Declan but Warren pulled him back.

  ‘Don’t be an idiot, Richard,’ she said. ‘That’s what they want you to do.’

  ‘Yes, Richard, listen to mummy,’ Monroe smiled. ‘And piss off, yeah?’

  ‘Get the hell off my crime scene!’ Warren was furious now, screaming the order at Monroe. By now at least half of the officers and forensics on site were approaching. Declan felt incredibly outnumbered.

  ‘All you had to do was ask,’ Monroe said, still with his disarming smile fixed on his face. ‘Come on, Declan. We’l
l find a nice café and have a cuppa. I saw a roadside van about a mile north, by Postern Hill.’

  And with that Monroe turned and left the crime scene, Declan struggling to keep up.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ Declan finally managed as they got back to the car. ‘We drive all the way up here so that you can make a scene and then leave?’

  ‘Ah no, son,’ Monroe climbed into the passenger side. ‘Don’t diminish the amazing assistance that you gave as well.’

  Declan sighed and climbed into the car.

  ‘So now what?’ he asked as he started the engine.

  ‘I told you already,’ Monroe said. ‘We go to that roadside tea hut a mile north and grab a cuppa.’

  ‘And then?’

  Monroe smiled.

  ‘And then we wait, my boy.’

  Declan sat on a plastic chair positioned by the side of the A348, sipping from his Styrofoam cup of coffee as across from him, the other side of a rickety table and on an equally as plastic chair sat Monroe, sighing with pleasure as he drank his tea.

  ‘That’s the way to make a brew,’ he said. ‘You southerners make it too weak.’

  ‘We’re literally further south than London here.’

  ‘Well the man in the van must be a northerner. This is proper builder’s tea. You can stick a spoon in it.’ Monroe’s phone beeped. He read it.

  ‘It’s from Anjli,’ he said. ‘It looks like Andy Mac went home yesterday.’

  ‘To the flat?’

  ‘No, to his house in Avebury.’

  Andy looked up the road to the north. ‘That’s about ten miles from here,’ he said. ‘And very convenient for dumping a body if you have a Land Rover, like Andy does.’

  ‘Ah, and there we hit a roadblock. Apparently he drove back in his own car, a Tesla of some kind,’ Monroe was still reading from his phone. ‘Also, according to the receptionist, God’s Will made a call to the police this morning. Apparently that very same Land Rover was stolen last night, after he was gone.’ He looked up. ‘It’s a miracle. No, what’s the opposite of one?’

  ‘It’s convenient,’ Declan said as he leaned back on the chair. The day was brisk but dry. Even the sun kept trying to appear through the clouds now and then. ‘So should we go and speak to him?’

  ‘Eventually,’ Monroe sipped at his tea.

  ‘And what are we doing right now?’

  ‘Waiting,’ Monroe said. ‘Just like your friend last night. Talking of which…’

  Monroe rose and walked to the Audi, reaching into the passenger side and pulling out an iPad.

  ‘…Got something to show you,’ he said as he sat back down. ‘You might enjoy it.’

  He opened up a video on the iPad.

  ‘Billy found this for me last night,’ he said, turning the iPad to Declan. On it, he could see the entrance to his Tottenham apartment, taken from a CCTV camera down the road. On the screen Declan saw two people emerge from the doorway; Kendis first, then Declan. They spoke, Kendis left and then Declan put his hand to his ear, most likely when he took the call from Monroe. Then, from the other side of the road a figure walked into view. Declan felt slightly out of body as he watched the man with the rimless glasses flick out his baton and attack Declan, leaning in and whispering before calmly dropping Declan to the ground and walking off.

  ‘Billy followed him for two streets after this, but then he disappeared,’ Monroe said. ‘Problem with CCTV is you’re relying on the subject staying the same. Chances are he took the coat off, or put a hat on, even got into a car in a dead spot. Either way, he arrived at your apartment and stood across the road for about fifteen minutes before you turned up.’

  ‘So why didn’t he attack me when I arrived?’ Declan asked. ‘He didn’t know I’d be coming back out.’

  Monroe leaned across, tapping the screen, pulling the slider to the left and reversing back the feed. Declan saw Kendis and Declan talking outside the building before entering.

  ‘Because he didn’t want a witness,’ Monroe said. ‘But more importantly, who’s the lassie?’

  ‘Kendis Taylor,’ Declan stared at the image. ‘She’s—’

  ‘I know exactly who Kendis Taylor is,’ Monroe replied, sitting back and folding his arms as he glared at Declan. ‘And who she works for.’

  ‘She wasn’t there as a journalist, she was there as a friend,’ Declan said, getting angry. He didn’t have to explain to anyone why he kept the friends he did. ‘She came to give her condolences.’

  ‘Ah,’ Monroe nodded. ‘I can see that. They were close back then.’

  Declan frowned at this, so Monroe continued.

  ‘Back when you broke up with her, your father was furious at you. He thought she was the best thing that ever happened to you.’

  ‘He wasn’t the only one.’

  ‘Well you were the one who broke it off.’ Monroe blew on his tea to cool it.

  ‘She wanted to be a journalist. I wanted to be a soldier. It seemed the right thing to do at the time. It was more of a break than a break up, but while I was in Northern Ireland she started dating someone else at University. And then I met Lizzie.’

  ‘Interesting that she appears when you’re no longer with Lizzie.’

  Declan snorted. ‘I think her husband might have an issue with that.’ He stared down at his Styrofoam mug. ‘She was working with Dad.’

  ‘What do you mean, working?’

  Declan shrugged. ‘I found her number in his office. She was helping him with his book. Whether she was giving advice or writing it for him, I don’t know.’

  ‘Well that must have been a little awkward for you when you found out? Your lost love working with Patrick?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  Declan stopped talking as a black Mercedes pulled to the side of the road, parking up behind the Audi. Emerging from it was a woman, middle aged with olive skin framed by short, untamed jet black hair. She wore a bright coloured hoodie and jeans, and from the colour scheme Declan wondered if she’d dressed in the dark.

  She walked over and sat on the third chair at the table, between Declan and Monroe.

  ‘Declan, meet Doctor Rosanna Marcos, the Last Chance Saloon’s Scene Of Crime Officer,’ Monroe said. ‘you should have met her in the Command Unit this morning, but things moved quickly.’

  ‘You were the one in the police cell,’ Declan realised.

  ‘I was, but it was a misunderstanding,’ Rosanna said, her accent European. There was something familiar there to Declan’s ear, but he couldn’t quite place it.

  ‘It always is,’ Monroe smiled as Declan realised where he’d heard her accent before.

  ‘You were at the crime scene!’ he exclaimed. ‘You passed behind me, but you were in full forensics.’ He looked back to Monroe. ‘She wasn’t one of Warren’s.’

  ‘No, she wasn’t,’ Monroe said. ‘And if she’d have said who she was, she wouldn’t have been allowed on site. Partly because she works for me, and partly because she’s banned from all crime site visitations for the next six months.’

  Declan nodded, finally understanding. This was why Monroe had made such a scene at the entrance to the crime scene, one so large that half the officers on site had come to see. It was nothing more than a distraction so that Doctor Marcos could get past the officer on guard and into the tent.

  And he’d heard of Doctor Rosanna Marcos, too. The brilliant Forensic Support officer who’d worked out the Tancredi murders; solving the timeline of how four Liverpudlian crime lords killed each other while sitting around a circular table was something that would usually gain a commendation, but Doctor Marcos had achieved it by removing the bodies from the morgue and taking them back to the crime scene, sitting them in their original seats and recreating the moment.

  Four dead, naked crime lords being manipulated like dolls did not go down well with the authorities.

  ‘So what did you find?’ Monroe asked.

  ‘I’ll have a more detailed briefing in the morning,’ Doctor Marcos repli
ed, ‘but the killer was definitely disturbed. Dug a shallow grave and only filled in half of it before running. Payne’s body was also incredibly burned, but the burning was post mortem.’

  ‘So they tried to set fire to the body?’ Declan asked. ‘Makes sense. Remove the DNA.’

  ‘There are easier ways to do that,’ Doctor Marcos said, plugging a dongle into Monroe’s iPad and attaching an SD card to it. Images from the crime scene started to appear on it. ‘This was sudden, as if the killer realised that they hadn’t done a thorough enough job.’

  ‘So the killer drives here, dumps the body and then sets fire to it,’ Monroe mused. Doctor Marcos shook her head.

  ‘No, it’s the other way around,’ she scrolled through some images, finishing at a close up of the body in the grave. ‘You can see here, the ground isn’t scorched, and there’s no accelerant. The body was burned elsewhere, but post death.’

  ‘Cause of death?’ Declan asked.

  ‘Something flat and heavy, something like…’ she paused. ‘Honestly? Something like a bronze age axe.’

  ‘Great, primitive man drives four by fours now,’ Monroe muttered.

  ‘I said like, you luddite,’ Doctor Marcos replied. ‘It was metal, but I couldn’t get any of the trace samples before I had to leave.’

  She rummaged in her pocket, pulling out a small, clear plastic bag. Inside it was something small, grey and charred.

  ‘I did get this,’ she said with a smile. ‘It was attached to the body. I think it was burned with him, or it’s a piece of whatever he was burned in. It’s synthetic, probably cotton, and looks like the interior lining of something.’

  ‘Well that’s a start,’ Monroe said, looking back to Declan. ‘I’ll go with Doctor Marcos back to the lab and start on that.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Declan asked, although he already knew the answer.

  ‘Well as you said, it’s only ten miles or so to Andy Mac’s house. It’d be a crime to come all this way without one of us saying hello, ensuring he’s not bereft over his stolen car, especially with all that pretty gold writing all over it.’