The Kate Fletcher Series

by Heleyne Hammersley

  ‘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.’

  Chapter 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 thir
ty 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.’

  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?’

  Kate didn’t. She’d declined in the past when he’d suggested that she accompany him but, in those cases, she’d felt like he was posing a challenge. This offer seemed genuine. ‘Do you think it’s a good idea for me to be there?’

  ‘It’s an unusual case, Fletcher. I’d like your eyes on it at every stage. Feelings run high when you’re dealing with so-called mercy killing. The press will have a field day if we mess this up.’

  ‘I’ll be there. When is it?’

  ‘Tomorrow. Sometime in the morning. I expect your friend will be the one performing it. I’ll text you the details.’ He meant Kailisa. It was no secret that the pathologist wasn’t a big fan of anybody who pushed him for information, and Kate had been guiltier than most of getting his back up. She remembered how stressed he’d been earlier when she’d seen him at the canal.

  ‘Okay. I’ll wear my body armour.’

  After dropping the pool car at Doncaster Central and sending Hollis home, Kate didn’t feel like heading up to the team office even though she knew that Cooper and Barratt would probably still be there. She texted both asking them to attend a briefing at 8.30am and then slipped into her Mini and drove home. It had been a long day and all she really wanted was junk food and mindless television. She grabbed a pizza from a local takeaway, and ten minutes later was watching the depressing weather forecast and trying to keep cheese from dripping down her top.

  The programme switched to the local news, and after the usual headlines about football and the state of the roads, a familiar house appeared inserted into a backdrop that she recognised instantly.

  ‘Shit!’ Kate yelled, dropping her slice of pizza and reaching for the remote control so that she could turn up the volume. She sat, transfixed, as she listened to the presenter’s dry account of the facts of the Lambert case. Raymond wasn’t going to like this one bit.

  NOVEMBER

  (Seven Weeks Earlier)

  Dear Caroline,

  I don’t really know what advice to give you. I know you’ll do the right thing in the end. It’s good that you’ve been to the hospital; at least you’ve established yourself as next of kin instead of that woman across the road. I can’t help but wonder what he’s like after all these years. Were you scared when you saw him? I think I would have been. Either that or I’d have given him a mouthful of abuse.

  Please be careful. I know what you want to do and I completely understand why, but I’m worried that it might backfire on you in some way. Of course I want him to pay for what he did and I know that he deserves it, but what about the consequences for you? You need to plan everything so carefully otherwise you’ll end up in a lot of trouble and I’m not sure he’s worth it. You can’t allow him to mess up your life after he’s dead – that’s just a waste. Please think this through. I know you’re not stupid and I don’t think you’ll do anything rash but please, please be careful.

  Love

  J

  Chapter 5

  The gate opened with a rusty cough, and she waited for the yapping of a dog many years dead as she let it slam behind her. Nothing, just flakes and crumbs of paint already trying to stick to her skin, branding and binding her. She wiped her hand on the seat of her jeans with a shudder, feeling tainted. The key was worse. She dug it out from the hanging basket where it had always lurked, waiting for her return, taunting her with its dull sheen. It felt familiar, nestling into her hand as she inserted it into the lock, forcing itself and Caroline home.

  She’d half expected to find Bren there, rocking in her father’s favourite armchair, like Norman Bates’s mother but the kitchen was empty, at least physi
cally. The smell was the same. Not-quite-stale cooking and cigarette smoke blending with an odour of undisturbed dust and sour memories. Not much had changed, but she hadn’t expected it to. Only the cooker and fridge looked like they might have been installed recently.

  The carpet was different, worn and stained, not new but definitely different. The table and chairs were more modern versions of the ones that had stood there until she’d left, but not new. The curtains were lighter, airier and the windows themselves had been altered, but not recently. Each replacement had had time to settle and age, shifting its contours until it fitted perfectly then simply staying. That was always his way. Replace anything worn out with a newer but similar version that hardly looked different. Perhaps it was comforting; Caroline found it sickening, another indication of his tightfistedness, his mean spirit.

  There was a note on the table, a reminder that she was the stranger.

  Caroline,

  Pants, vests and shirts ironed in drawers in bedroom. He'll need socks, shaving kit, soap etc.

  It wasn’t signed and the etc. could have been anything. Caroline knew nothing about men in their seventies with cancer, and didn’t really want to know. She looked around for clues but the slanted bars of weak sunlight carved by the windowpanes made her feel trapped and helpless, useless. She knew she would have to go upstairs to face the rooms which were already weighing her down, threatening to collapse through the ceiling and crush her where she stood.