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

by Jack Gatland

  The man with the rimless glasses slammed the car into first gear and with a roar of the engine, the car drove off down the London street, on its way to Devington House.

  Declan’s Audi was also speeding through London; but Declan had the advantage of a blue light and a siren to get the Saturday morning traffic out of his way. Beside him sat Anjli while behind, working on a laptop was Billy.

  ‘Got an interesting link for you,’ Billy said as he looked up. ‘The number Trix texted was a number that Andy Mac called last night around 1am.’

  ‘You sure?’ Declan swerved around a Sainsburys truck, beeping his horn as he raced over a crossroads.

  ‘Yup, definitely the same number. No ID on who owns it, probably an old burner number, but they chatted for about ten minutes last night. I reckon this would have been an hour or so before he hanged himself.’

  ‘Francine Pearce speaking to Andy Mac before he hanged himself feels to me more like Francine Pearce telling Andy Mac to hang himself,’ Anjli muttered. ‘Probably promised to look after his family if he fell on his sword.’

  ‘Would explain why he confessed to everything, when we know he didn’t kill at least one of the three,’ Billy said, wincing as a car sped backwards past them. ‘We hit a motorway soon, right?’

  ‘Did we ever work out who Sebastian was texting the day he was murdered?’

  ‘Another burner phone. Probably a journalist of some kind.’

  Declan almost slammed the brakes on in realisation.

  ‘You should leave Andy for the press. We’re already gunning for him on some less than savoury things.’

  ‘Do me a favour,’ he said, keeping his voice calm. ‘Send me the number.’

  ‘Nobody answers it,’ Billy replied.

  ‘Humour me,’ Declan insisted as his phone beeped. Anjli glanced at it.

  ‘It’s a text,’ she said. Want me to read it?’

  ‘Please,’ Declan was concentrating on the road.

  ‘It’s Baker’s phone, so it must be Shaun,’ Anjli said. ‘It’s just a set of directions. Three steps east, fifteen feet north…’

  ‘Shaun’s just given us his secret way into Devington House,’ Declan said as the phone beeped again. ‘What’s he said now?’

  Anjli looked at the phone. ‘It’s not Shaun,’ she said, placing the phone back down. ‘It’s your ex-wife. She seems angry. Something about a day with your daughter?’

  Declan swore. ‘Tell her I’ll be free by this afternoon.’

  ‘What am I, your secretary?’

  Declan glanced at Anjli. ‘Do you want to steer while I do it?’ he asked.

  Reluctantly Anjli started typing on the phone, while Declan pressed his foot on the pedal. He needed to finish this quickly, if only to keep Elizabeth from killing him.

  28

  Rematch

  The man with the rimless glasses pulled up outside Devington House; the gates were open, the driveway inviting.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ Francine hissed from the back seat. ‘An invitation?’

  ‘The gates are open,’ he replied. ‘They’re never open.’

  ‘Maybe the police are already here,’ she snapped back. ‘Maybe you weren’t fast enough.’

  The man with the rimless glasses sighed inwardly, driving through the gates and up to the house. There was another car on the driveway, the driver’s door still open. It looked familiar, and Francine pursed her lips together as she saw it, making a tching sound.

  ‘Bloody Baker’s here,’ she said. ‘Why is he here? The last thing we want is Walsh turning up and finding the whole gang around.’

  She got out of the car before it pulled to a halt, already walking to the main entrance as the man with the rimless glasses followed her. She stopped as a mobile phone fell from the roof, smashing on the gravel beside her. Looking up, she saw Susan Devington move back from the edge.

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ she muttered. ‘She’s on the bloody roof again.’

  Pushing at the door, she found it unlocked. Entering the ornate hallway, she was struck by how empty it seemed.

  ‘Where’s the old man?’ she asked as they walked through the hallway, the man with the rimless glasses closing and bolting the door behind him.

  ‘Day off?’ he suggested. ‘it is a Saturday.’

  ‘That man will die in here,’ Francine replied. ‘He won’t take time off. Look for him.’ She started up the stairs. ‘And make sure every entrance is locked. I want Walsh to be stuck outside.’

  ‘And if he gets inside?’ the man with the rimless glasses was already moving to the large windows, ensuring that they were locked.

  ‘Well then you’ll just have to do a better job on him than you did last time,’ Francine muttered as she continued towards the ballroom, and the stairs at the back that led to the upper levels and the roof.

  Monroe gave his most winning smile as he pulled up to the SCO 19 barracks.

  ‘Alright lads?’ he asked as the blue-capped policemen bustled around him, gathering equipment and readying their weapons. ‘Looks like you’re off on a hunt.’

  ‘What do you want, Guv?’ a Specialist Firearms Officer asked as he walked over. Monroe smiled warmly.

  ‘Andrews, good to see you’re moving up in the world,’ he said. ‘You the SFO of these fine chaps?’

  ‘And what if I am?’ Andrews was wary as he spoke to Monroe. He’d worked under him before joining the firearm unit and although he respected the DCI, he also didn’t trust him fully.

  ‘Got a treat for you,’ Monroe said, pulling out a sheet of paper. ‘Training mission. ASAP.’

  Andrews looked at the sheet of paper. ‘This is a to do list, Guv.’

  ‘It is? Oh, silly me,’ Monroe kept the smile. ‘Must have left the letter in the office. Too late to get it back. You’ll have to take my word for it.’

  ‘No offence, DCI Monroe, but I’m not taking your word for anything,’ Andrews returned the paper. Monroe held his gaze.

  ‘No offence, SFO Andrews, but I have an officer in grave danger and I need armed backup,’ Monroe whispered. ‘And if you don’t help me, I’ll ensure that people know exactly why I transferred you out of my department and how much you can probably be bought for.’

  Andrews looked at Monroe. He knew the man; he knew Monroe never made light threats.

  ‘Officer in danger?’

  ‘Grave.’

  ‘Right then!’ Andrews shouted to his men. ‘Suit up! We have a training exercise to get to!’

  Monroe sighed. If Declan was wrong, Monroe would most likely be fired for this.

  But then if Declan was wrong, he would most likely die.

  Declan pulled into Devington House with a screech of tyres; as the man with the rimless glasses had seen but a few minutes earlier, the gate was wide open and strangely foreboding. However unlike the man with the rimless glasses Declan didn’t pause, speeding through the gates and up the driveway, pulling to a stop at speed beside Charles Baker’s car, the gravel spraying up and chipping the paintwork. On the other side of the drive was a black car, its windows blacked out; most likely Francine Pearce’s.

  ‘She’s here already,’ he said, already exiting the car and running to the main doors. They were locked. Stepping back, he looked at the house.

  ‘There could be a back entrance,’ he said to Billy and Anjli as they ran up to him. ‘Check for any entrances into the building, and when Monroe gets here help him keep Special Branch at bay.’

  ‘What about you?’ Anjli asked. Declan held up his phone.

  ‘I’m going to see if I can find the secret entrance,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘But what if Shaun Donnal shoots you?’ Anjli replied.

  ‘He won’t,’ Declan replied with the assurance of someone who knew something that the others didn’t. ‘I think I know what he intends to do.’ And with that he started off to the side of the house at a jog.

  Billy looked to Anjli, a concerned expression on his face.

  ‘
Yeah, shoot everyone,’ he said.

  Declan counted the flagstones on the left hand side of Devington House, checking his numbers against the text that Shaun Donnal had sent him. Once he’d reached the required number, he moved through the foliage at the base of the house, finding himself in a small alcove where one of the four turrets jutted out a little. At the base was a large flagstone, slightly discoloured against the wall.

  Looking around, Declan saw an old crowbar in the foliage, probably what used to be utilised to prise the stone open when Shaun would visit. Sliding it into a visible and possibly man made chink on the right of the flagstone, Declan levered it open, marvelling as the flagstone opened out to reveal ancient hinges on the other side. Behind it was a narrow passage, no bigger than a crawlspace that sloped upwards.

  Getting on his knees and turning on his torch, Declan crawled into the space, moving upwards for about twenty feet until it hit a stone wall. Above him was a narrow passage with a wooden ladder embedded into the wall as blocks of wood. It didn’t look that safe, but Declan didn’t really have a choice at the moment. Slowly he climbed up the makeshift ladder, working out in his head the height that he was currently at. He realised that he must have been at the ballroom level when he found the ladder stop at a ledge, with a narrow passage running to his right now.

  There were two options here; one was another ladder, twenty yards further to the right that went up to another floor, most likely the upper levels of the house, while in front of him was a wooden door of some kind. The passage to the right was most likely how Susan had gotten past the guard but Declan didn’t have the time to play explorer; he pushed at the door in front of him, feeling it give as it opened up into the ballroom.

  Crawling out, Declan examined the door as he closed it behind him; it was flush to the wood panelling along the side of the room, and if you didn’t know it was there, you’d never know there was a secret door beside you as you danced.

  Or fought.

  Declan rose to see that he was in the dojo that he had sparred Susan Devington in earlier that week. Down the other end of the ballroom was a set of stairs that most likely led to the upper levels and the roof.

  Standing there on the mat, waiting for him was the man with the rimless glasses.

  ‘You took your time,’ he smiled.

  Declan smiled in response. He’d hoped that the man with the rimless glasses would be here. He had a score to settle.

  He rose to his feet, shaking off the dirt and cobwebs that had accumulated around him while in the priest hole. ‘Never got your name,’ he said.

  ‘Never gave it,’ the man with the rimless glasses replied. Declan shrugged.

  ‘Fair point,’ he said as he moved in. This time however he was prepared and, as he walked towards the man with the rimless glasses, he let his right hand loosen, letting an extendable baton slide into it. With a flick he opened it up.

  ‘Let’s get this over with,’ he said as he attacked.

  Francine Pearce had expected to find Susan Devington on the roof, and since arriving she now knew that Charles Baker would be up there with her. What she hadn’t bargained for was Shaun Donnal, a gun in his hand and a wild expression in his eyes joining them. And, as she exited Devington House and walked onto the roof, feeling the cold air hit her skin, it was Shaun who walked up behind her, pressing the gun into her back.

  ‘Throw your phone over the edge,’ he hissed, ‘and then join the others.’

  Francine calmly took her phone out and tossed it over the barricade that ran along the roof. ‘You’ll not shoot me,’ she said. ‘Your family—’

  ‘Haven’t spoken to me in years,’ Shaun hissed. ‘I know it’s been you, Frankie. I’ve known it’s been you for years, but I haven’t had the guts to admit it.’

  ‘And now?’

  Shaun pushed Francine hard, sending her stumbling into Susan Devington’s arms.

  ‘Now we all discuss what really happened,’ he said. ‘To Sarah, to Victoria and to Andrew bloody MacIntyre.’

  He cocked the gun in his hand.

  ‘And then I’ll dispense justice,’ he finished.

  The first time that Declan had fought the man with the rimless glasses, he’d been sucker punched and unready. He’d been distracted by Kendis’ arrival and, even though he’d spotted the man with the rimless glasses approaching from across the street, he hadn’t expected to be struck so quickly. This time however, he was ready, eager even for the rematch.

  The man with the rimless glasses had pulled his own extendible baton out as Declan attacked, using it to deflect the constant blows that Declan was raining upon him, losing ground with every clack of the batons. Declan was also kicking out with his feet, trying to trip his opponent as he continued to keep him off balance. The sparring with Susan aside, this was the first proper fight that he’d been prepared for in weeks, and he had a lot of anger to work out.

  Clack. The anger at being suspended for doing his job.

  Clack. The anger at DCI Ford’s betrayal in Mile End.

  Whumf. A solid blow to the solar plexus, powered by anger at the death of his father.

  And another blow, And another.

  The man with the rimless glasses may have been military trained, but Declan had been trained to defeat the military as part of his job; finally he was utilising these skills to their fullest extent, spin kicking around as he took out his opponent’s leg, connecting a solid right against the face, the weight of the baton in his hand acting like a weighted glove as he sent the man with the rimless glasses sprawling to the dojo mat, clutching at his twisted knee. He tried to get up, but Declan was already in; a knee to the face broke the man with the rimless glasses’ nose as he flailed backwards, landing back on the mat with a thud, wheezing through his mouth as his bleeding nose filled it with blood.

  Declan grabbed the man with the rimless glasses’ right hand and, pulling out his handcuffs, he cuffed the broken opponent to the weight tower.

  ‘We’re done here,’ he said, already walking to the stairs. ‘I thought you’d be more of a challenge.’

  The man with the rimless glasses just stared at him in a concussed stupor.

  Declan opened the door to the roof of Devington House to see Charles Baker, Susan Devington and Francine Pearce one side, while Shaun Donnal stood the other.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come here, Walsh!’ Donnal cried. ‘They need to pay!’

  Declan walked closer. ‘They need to face the law, Shaun,’ he said. ‘If you kill them, you’ll be just as bad as them.’

  ‘Listen to the detective, Shaun,’ Charles suggested.

  ‘Shut up!’ Shaun screamed, his gun rising, his finger tightening on the trigger. Declan moved in front of the gun.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said softly. ‘Think of your family. Think of Sally. The real one. We don’t know what they’re thinking. But if you let me take these criminals in, if you step down, we can look to getting your life restarted. You don’t have to hide anymore.’

  ‘They killed Victoria,’ Shaun said, his eyes tearing up.

  ‘And they’ll pay for that,’ Declan said. ‘But not with you being judge, jury and executioner.’

  Shaun thought for a moment, the gun lowering. Declan stood to the side, giving the gunman space.

  ‘You’re right,’ Shaun said, tossing the gun to the floor. ‘They’re not worth it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Declan said, looking to Francine – but she had already reached down and picked up the gun, aiming it at Shaun.

  ‘You poor, deluded idiot,’ she said as she fired it at him. Twice.

  Shaun spun, falling to the floor, unmoving as Francine turned the gun onto Declan.

  ‘Are you mad?’ Charles said. ‘How the hell do we explain this!’

  ‘Easy,’ Francine replied, walking over to the door to the roof and using a metal pole to bar it shut. ‘DI Walsh here came to our aid in freeing us from this madman. Unfortunately he was shot and killed before you, brave Charles Baker fought and wrestl
ed the gun from the crazed Donnal, the gun going off in the process, killing him.’

  She looked from the dead body of Shaun Donnal to Declan.

  ‘Unfortunately, it does mean that you have to die too,’ she said as she squeezed the trigger.

  29

  The Final Solution

  ‘Wait!’ Declan cried out, his hands in the air. ‘At least let me know if I got it right first!’

  Francine paused, lowering the gun. ‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘Let’s see if you solved your final case.’

  Declan took a deep breath, glancing down at Shaun’s body. ‘I’ll have to start from the very beginning,’ he said. Francine nodded.

  ‘Nobody’s getting up here for a while,’ she said. ‘Go wild.’

  ‘We don’t have time for this!’ Susan snapped. ‘He will have told others! They’re coming for me!'

  Francine waved Susan back. ‘Let’s see if he has you dead to rights first, yes?’ She nodded to Declan. ‘Go on. Tell your story.’

  Declan nodded in return. ‘First we have to go back to the beginning,’ he said. In the distance he could hear police sirens. That meant that things were going to be ending one way or the other very soon.

  'It starts with two sisters,’ he said. ‘Sarah and Frankie Pearce. Both want to be solicitors. Both want to be powerful. Both become solicitors but one, Frankie has gotten married and is now Frankie Wilson. After a few years though, Sarah gets bored of being a solicitor. She moves into politics. Joins the Liberal Democrats. Maybe Frankie does too, I don’t know.’

  ‘I did,’ Francine admitted.

  ‘So now Sarah is pushing to be an MP. This could be big for the sisters. Sarah marries Liam Hinksman, and even though he works for Labour, she fights for a seat in the 1997 election for the Lib Dems, with Frankie at her side, advising her.’ Declan watched Francine for any reaction, Seeing none, he continued.