Dead Lucky Page 20

  Dempsey began to cry. She wiped the tears away, in short angry movements. ‘Sorry,’ she said, as if she had anything to apologise for. ‘I think I do remember him. You know how some things stick in your mind. His eyes are different colours, see?’

  Lambert hadn’t noticed the difference of colour in the man’s eyes. One eye was brown, the other hazel.

  ‘He was a police officer?’ said Dempsey.

  Kennedy looked at Lambert, her eyes full of optimism.

  ‘That’s correct,’ said Lambert. He didn’t want to ask any questions of her just yet. He wanted the account to be her own recollection, unburdened by leading questions.

  ‘I don’t know his name. He came to the care home where I had my first job. I saw him twice, maybe three times.’ Dempsey looked up at Kennedy as if for support. Kennedy smiled and nodded.

  Lambert could have screamed at her. Dempsey was taking her time with the revelation, like a master storyteller.

  The colour in Dempsey’s skin changed as she recalled what had happened. Dr Hughes had noticed it, and inched closer to the bed. Dempsey scratched her neck. ‘He was investigating some trouble at the home. There were some accusations. He looked into them, but nothing ever came of it.’

  Hughes edged nearer to her patient. ‘What were the accusations, Laura?’ asked Lambert.

  Dempsey shook her head. ‘I…’she hesitated, and out of nowhere vomited onto her bed.

  ‘That’s all for now,’ said Hughes, ushering them out and calling for a nurse.

  As Lambert retreated out of the room, he saw Laura looking at the puddle of vomit on her bedsheets in total confusion, as if she’d just exorcised some alien life form from within her.

  Chapter 36

  Lambert summoned everyone to the incident room as they drove back from the hospital. He needed to make everything clear in his mind. Laura’s revelation was the first direct link between the surviving victims. She’d met Lennox before. That was enough for Lambert.

  Despite that, he had to keep an open mind. Too much was on the periphery, not fully accounted for. No one could be eliminated at this point, and he had to ensure that the case didn’t only follow his intended route.

  The incident room was alive with anticipation when they returned. Devlin bounded over to him. ‘I’ve details on the children’s home where Laura Dempsey worked. It was called St Matthew’s in Dalston. It’s a retirement home now. We have teams looking into all former members of staff, and we’re trying to locate the names of the children who used to live there. The council are struggling to locate any files from the time it was a children’s home.’

  Lambert took the file. He was impressed with the initiative and quick result. He rewarded Devlin with a slight nod of the head.

  The room quietened as Lambert moved to the centre of the office. ‘As you’re aware, we have a direct connection between three of the parties involved in the case.’ On the murder board, he drew a link between Laura Dempsey and the former police officer Neil Lennox. He drew a second line between Lennox and Sackville. ‘All our focus is now on exploring these links, and extending it out. Devlin, where are we on Eustace Sackville’s notes?’

  Devlin stood, a growing confidence in his stature. ‘We’re going through his reports from the time period where Laura Dempsey was working at the home. Naturally, we’ve searched through his files for hits on Dempsey, Blake, Robinson, Whitfield etc… and now Lennox and the children’s home. The name Lennox appears a few times, but just as lead detective on cases Sackville was reporting.’

  ‘Work through each of those cases in detail. We met with one of Lennox’s former colleagues, DS Lindsay, this morning. Add him to the mix as well.’

  ‘Sir.’

  Lambert continued assigning duties. Walker was in attendance, the bruise on his eye still ripe. ‘Walker, do some more research on Robinson and Whitfield. Whitfield in particular. I know he’s incapacitated at the moment, but I don’t want to rule out his involvement just yet.’

  The disappointment on Walker’s face was palpable. He obviously knew he was being side-lined, and for the time being that was exactly where Lambert wanted him. Lambert sneaked a look at Kennedy whose face remained impassive.

  She approached him after he’d wrapped up the meeting. ‘Are we going to the home?’

  ‘St Matthew’s? It’s a retirement home now,’ said Lambert.

  ‘Devlin is struggling to find any details from the council.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll make an appointment for after lunch. I have a few things to do.’

  Back in his office, Lambert began reading the files he’d downloaded on Kennedy’s father. He focused on the period where Laura Dempsey was working in the children’s home. Not sure as to what he was looking for, Lambert searched for mentions of Lennox, Sackville, Dempsey, Robinson, and the care home.

  He spent thirty minutes on the search before deciding there was way too much data for him to make any kind of inroad. He set up a number of cross searches linking the assistant chief with everyone on the case, and paused. Was this what the Watcher wanted him to do? If there was something of relevance he could find on the assistant chief, he was sure it wouldn’t bring him any closer to finding the killer. It would be too coincidental for Kennedy’s father to be involved in any relevant capacity. He was convinced it was a diversionary tactic. Why else would the Watcher give him such insight? He saved the searches he’d made and logged out, refusing to be distracted any further.

  He found Kennedy in the canteen, eating alone. ‘Join you?’ he said, placing his lunch on the table opposite her.

  Kennedy nodded and continued eating.

  ‘I’ve made an appointment at the building which used to be the children’s home for one-thirty,’ he said. ‘It’s a retirement home now, so not sure what we’ll get out of it.’

  Kennedy finished her lunch and pushed her plate an inch forward. ‘Curtis Blake has a birthday this weekend,’ she said.

  ‘So I hear.’

  ‘Sixtieth. A surprise party by all accounts.’

  Lambert wondered if there was any significance to the date. ‘That gives me a thought. I’ll see you at St Matthew’s,’ he said, getting to his feet and leaving the room.

  Chapter 37

  Matilda watched Lambert leave then ordered her third cup of coffee that morning. They’d only been working together for a few weeks but in that brief time she’d come to trust and respect the man. Something she couldn’t say about the majority of people she’d previously worked with.

  The thing with Tillman was getting out of hand. She’d spent the night at his place again. There was a side to Tillman he never showed at work, would never dare. It was a caring, almost vulnerable side. Yet he was willing to share that part of himself with her, and she was finding this side of him more and more attractive. She wouldn’t be the first junior officer to sleep with a superior but there were protocols in place and if they were caught they would both suffer consequences, though she imagined he would take the brunt of any investigation into their relationship. She didn’t want to give it up but every time she saw Lambert she felt like she should tell him. She only hoped he wouldn’t see it as a betrayal if the truth was eventually revealed.

  She sensed someone following her as she walked back to her table. She sat back down, unsurprised to see the beanpole like figure of DS Walker hovering before her. She wanted to sigh but she kept her body language positive. She would not be intimidated by the man, especially not here at her place of work.

  ‘We need to talk,’ said Walker, sitting down uninvited.

  Matilda lifted her head and made no secret that she was staring at Walker’s right eye, more specifically at the black and purple smudge which surrounded it. Walker’s hand involuntarily touched the bruised skin, realising what he’d done too late. He brought his hand back to the table, his face contorting into a grimace.

  ‘Do you approve of your boyfriend’s handiwork?’ he said.

  Matilda tensed. Walker had called Tillman her b
oyfriend. She didn’t want to provoke Walker too much but he had to realise she couldn’t so easily be rattled. ‘You were harassing me. You wouldn’t take no for an answer,’ she said.

  ‘Me? I was just trying to help you. You were the one pissed out of your head.’ He looked so incredulous that maybe he believed the lies he was telling. He was right that she’d been drunk. She’d been thinking more and more about that over the last forty-eight hours. She had had a lot to drink, but her unsteadiness that night and her subsequent amnesia was not a normal occurrence.

  Tillman had explained it away. His father-like explanation that it occasionally happened like that had enraged her.

  ‘You do talk some nonsense, Walker.’

  ‘Ask anyone, Kennedy. You were pissed that night. You were downing G&Ts like they were going out of fashion.’

  ‘Even if that’s true, it doesn’t give you an excuse to harass me.’

  Walker snorted. ‘You believe what you want.’

  ‘I will,’ said Matilda, ‘and if there is nothing else?’

  Walker didn’t move. Back straight, he planted his hands on the table and continued staring at her. Some of her colleagues at the other tables had stopped what they were doing and were looking over, probably looking for some confrontation to brighten their day.

  Walker had accounted for his black eye by saying he’d been caught by a stray elbow in a five-a-side game of football, but not many people believed him. At least three officers asked Matilda where Walker had caught the shiner and this most public of confrontations was doing neither of them any favours.

  ‘What is this all about, Walker?’ she said through gritted teeth.

  ‘It’s easy to blindside someone, Kennedy, especially if you’re someone’s superior officer.’

  Matilda shrugged and held her palms face up. ‘Why then?’ she said softly. ‘Why are you always on my case?’

  Walker grinned. ‘Because I hate abuse of power,’ he said, once again with a sense of righteousness. ‘I’ll be watching you, Kennedy,’ he said.

  Matilda remained seated as Walker sloped off. She ignored the stares from her work colleagues, pretending to check messages on her phone.

  Chapter 38

  The Watcher was directing him, moving him from one house to another, from protecting Sophie to worrying about DS Kennedy’s father, when his focus should be elsewhere.

  Lambert searched for the positives. He must be getting close. They had a link now, however tenuous, between Lennox, Sackville, Laura Dempsey, and the children’s home. Next, he had to question Sackville, then back to Dempsey.

  Tillman was waiting for him in his office, leaning back on his chair as if defying gravity. ‘Caught him yet?’ he said.

  Lambert ignored the flippant comment. ‘I need to see Harrogate.’

  Tillman pulled himself upright, groaning with the effort. He looked smarter than usual. He was wearing a suit Lambert hadn’t seen before, the cut suggesting it was custom made. He wore a crisp shirt, striped tie pressed tight against his throat. Lambert wondered who he was trying to impress. ‘We’ve gone through that, unless you have more for me.’

  ‘There is a surprise birthday party for Blake this weekend.’

  ‘Not much of a surprise if you know about it.’

  Lambert waited a beat. He wanted to gauge Tillman’s reaction to what he had to say next. ‘Actually it was Kennedy who found out about the party,’ he lied.

  Tillman didn’t even so much as flinch. ‘That reminds me, why were you checking up on Kennedy’s father?’

  ‘Don’t change the subject, Glenn.’

  Tillman scratched his chin. Lambert was the only person below Tillman’s rank who could get away with calling Tillman by his first name. He’d learnt to use the honour sparingly. ‘Okay, there’s a party. I’m sure Harrogate already knows. I’ll speak to his team and let you know if he wants to discuss it with you.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Lambert, standing up.

  ‘Not so fast, take a seat. Kennedy’s father, the assistant chief constable.’

  Lambert sat, tried not to smile at being caught out. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t be facetious. Why the search on The System? These things go beyond me sometimes, especially when you’re flagging up someone like that.’

  ‘I was just curious.’

  It was Tillman’s turn to smile. ‘Curious? Why didn’t you ask me, rather than creating a record?’

  ‘Is there something you need to tell me, sir?’

  Tillman ground his teeth. ‘That’s not the question. The question is: what are you not telling me?’

  ‘As I said, just curious as to whom I was working with. Though I’m becoming more curious now.’

  ‘Just lock that curiosity in place for the time being and concentrate on the case.’

  ‘Sir.’ Lambert stood again, and was at the door when Tillman spoke again.

  ‘By the way, I’m transferring Walker.’

  Lambert nodded, thinking that was a problem for another time.

  Lambert returned to his office and decided on his next move. If he had his way, he would visit Blake again but for the time being it was more trouble than it was worth. Restless, he left his office and headed to the canteen and ordered a coffee. He checked in with the officers watching his house, and thought again about the last call he’d received from the Watcher. How the killer seemed to have eyes in multiple places at once. Lambert glanced around the room, at the officers and civilian staff, and thought about the type of person who could conduct such a surveillance, who could know where he was at any given time. A professional, certainly, but there was more to it than that. Could there be more than one person involved in the killings? Could the killer be part of a group, even? If so, what sort of group could have the resources to hack into police mobile phones, to have eyes on a senior officer whilst at the same time monitoring his family?

  He didn’t find it as easy as he would hope to dispel his initial theory. A professional team, with great surveillance capabilities, could easily describe The Group or some unknown subset.

  Lambert had once been part of a team monitoring the activities of a corrupt vice team in the South-West of England. Obviously, if it was such a team they were working to a different agenda but he’d come across too many corrupt officers before to completely dismiss the possibility.

  The only other team he could think of at present was the mini-militia installed at Curtis Blake’s compound.

  A uniformed officer, Thornton, approached and broke his thought process. ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir. There’s been a bit of an incident. I thought you should be made aware.’

  Thornton was a desk sergeant, somewhere in his late fifties to early sixties. He looked nervous, which was odd for him. He had a detached and cynical personality. Lambert was surprised anything could bother him. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense, sergeant.’

  ‘Yes. Well, it’s Eustace Sackville, sir.’

  Lambert placed his coffee on the desk and gave the man his full attention.

  ‘I just received a call out of Holborn. It seems there was a bit of an altercation, and Mr Sackville has been arrested.’

  Smokers loitered outside the building and glanced at Lambert as he strode into the station. He bypassed the queue and displayed his warrant card to the desk sergeant, a jaded looking woman with a distant stare. ‘You have Eustace Sackville in custody?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the sergeant, not having to glance at the arrest sheet. ‘He’s sleeping one off.’

  ‘I need to speak to the arresting officer.’

  ‘Take a seat.’

  Lambert sucked in a breath. He was about to ask for the most senior officer on duty when a familiar face rescued him from an outburst.

  ‘Lambo,’ shouted a voice, silencing the general murmurs of the waiting crowd.

  DI Wallace Greig stood with his hand on his hips. He had a full head of white hair, and wore a pair of steel-rimmed glasses.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been getting your h
ands dirty, Wally,’ said Lambert, walking over to the man.

  ‘God, no,’ said Greig, in a thick Glaswegian accent. ‘I saw them haul poor Eustace to the cells. I heard what happened to him so looked up his case. Much security clearing later I discovered your mob are in charge. Come on through.’

  Lambert followed the man through to the open-plan office area within the station. Greig had put on at least a couple of stone since he’d last seen him over ten years ago. He’d been a DI then, and it appeared his career had stood still in the interim. He wore a cheap, tired looking suit, his supposedly white shirt faded into a dull grey.

  ‘Get you a coffee?’

  ‘I’m fine, Wally.’

  ‘Okay, son.’ Greig patted him on the back. ‘I’ll get the sprightly young thing who took Eustace down. Why don’t you meet us in the interview room over yonder?’

  Greig returned two minutes later, followed by a uniformed officer who looked like he was still going through the final flush of puberty. His skin was a battleground of pits and red sores. His pale green eyes darted around the room as if he’d been hauled in for interrogation. ‘PC Brenton. First month on the job, eh, son?’

  ‘Sir,’ said Brenton.

  ‘What can you tell me, Brenton,’ said Lambert, pointing to a seat.

  Brenton looked at Greig, who nodded, and took a seat. He went to open his notebook when Greig swiped it out of his hand. ‘Get a grip, son. Tell DCI Lambert here what happened. Use your goddam memory.’

  Lambert suppressed a grin, as Brenton began to speak. ‘We were called to the Byrne Lyle Chambers earlier this morning, eleven-twenty I believe. The head of chambers had reported a disturbance and I was in the vicinity. When I arrived, I saw a man, now identified as Eustace Sackville, trying to attack one of the members of staff at the chambers.’

  ‘You tackled him all by yourself, didn’t you son?’ said Greig, dripping with sarcasm.

  ‘You were alone?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘Let’s not get into that, shall we,’ said Greig. ‘Brenton’s supervisor was spending a penny at the time, isn’t that right, Brenton?’