Dead Lucky (18 page)

‘The lawyer?’

‘He uses a firm. Price and Barker.’

Lambert closed his eyes for a second, and looked away.

‘Your wife works there, doesn’t she?’

Lambert stared at him, thinking hard.

‘I’m sure it’s a coincidence. What department is she in?’

‘Family law.’ Lambert thought about his anonymous caller, all the information he had.

‘Blake has his own team. It’s not what you’d expect. Blake is under the impression that he’s legit, so they’re all commercial solicitors. I think they ship the criminal work out.’

‘I guess he uses the senior guys, the partners?’

‘Yes, the main guy is…’

‘Don’t tell me,’ said Lambert. ‘Jeremy Taylor.’

Chapter 26

He called Sophie as soon as he reached the car.

‘Everything okay?’ she asked.

‘Just checking in. Nothing out of the ordinary happened recently?’

‘No. Oh hang on, I did push a small child out of me a few days ago but apart from that…’

‘Very droll.’

‘You sound worried, is there something wrong?’

It was pointless worrying her for no due reason. Taylor being involved had to be a coincidence. By all accounts, he’d been overseeing Blake’s legal work for a number of years, long before Sophie had been on the scene. ‘No, I just felt bad about earlier. How’s Glenda?’

‘Fine. What is it, Michael? You can tell me.’

‘Nothing, honest. I’ll speak to you later.’

The phone rang as soon as he ended the call. ‘Yep,’ said Lambert, having not looked at the number.

‘Lambert.’

Lambert pressed the brake pedal a little harder than planned, receiving a horn blast from the car behind him. He lifted his hand in apology.

Lambert sensed the change in the man’s voice immediately. It was a subtle shift in tone, almost indecipherable. The killer sounded stressed.

‘It’s not going to work,’ said the voice. ‘You’re not going to turn me into some sort of joke.’

Lambert tried to pull over, blasting his horn at the stalled car in front of him.

‘Slow down. What are you talking about?’ he shouted into the speakerphone. The stalled car pulled away and Lambert parked on a double yellow line and switched on his hazards, receiving a line of angry horn blasts and shouts from his fellow drivers.

‘Don’t play dumb with me, Lambert, I know too much about you. I know you’ve met with Mia Helmer on more than one occasion. You met with her only the other day at Eustace’s flat.’

Lambert thought back to catching the journalist going through Sackville’s belongings and the ensuing file he’d discovered listing Curtis Blake’s involvement in trafficking. He could only presume that Helmer had leaked the story despite the promises she’d made.

‘I’ve met with Helmer but I haven’t told her to run any story,’ he said, gambling. ‘From what I understand, you guided her to the flat in the first place.’

The killer paused and it took all Lambert’s will for him not to speak again. He sat still, each passing car which had to manoeuvre around him breaking the silence with obscenities.

Eventually the killer spoke, the stressed tone from seconds before had vanished. The man sounded back in control.

‘What does it matter?’ he said. ‘We’re entering end time now. Party time is coming. Such ridiculous tactics won’t stop me.’

‘Why don’t you tell me the truth?’ said Lambert. ‘Tell me where Helmer went wrong. Tell me what this is all about and we can put your side of the story to the public. Surely you don’t want them to hear these lies about you.’ He could only guess at what Helmer had printed. ‘Just tell me what this is all about.’ Lambert hesitated, and decided to gamble. ‘Tell me what Eustace Sackville and Laura Dempsey did to you. Tell me what they did to deserve this punishment.’ Lambert sensed rather than heard the intake of breath on the other side of the line.

‘You truly don’t know anything, do you?’

‘What about Curtis Blake?’ continued Lambert, undeterred.

‘What about him?’ said the killer laughing, as if the question was ridiculous. ‘You’re grasping at straws, Mr Lambert. Have you asked your partner about her father yet? She really does have issues with authority you know. But her latest issue is going to get her into grave trouble.’

‘Don’t change the subject. What have you got to hide? If end times are coming, as you said, why can’t you let me know?’

‘That would be spoiling all the fun, Mr Lambert,’ said the killer. ‘Be watching you,’ he said, hanging up.

‘Hello? Hello?’ screamed Lambert into the handset, receiving a low monotone noise in return. He slammed his fist against the dashboard before taking out his notebook and recording the conversation as best he could. The killer had spoken in code. Lambert jotted down the crucial bits: End time is coming, it’s party time. He noted what the killer had said about Matilda without directly mentioning her name. About her authority issues and how her latest dalliance had put her in grave danger. It seemed now he would have to find out who she was seeing, which would be awkward at best.

He opened the car door, a cyclist swerving to miss him. Lambert held his hands up but the cyclist was not satisfied. He placed his bike on the pavement and moved towards him. He was a lean figure, dressed in black Lycra, at least six foot four. His rage was all too evident. He moved towards Lambert, ready to engage in violence, only to stop at the last second as Lambert stood his ground and stared the man down.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Lambert. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’ He didn’t flinch as the man took one step nearer. Lambert was about to reach his hand into his pocket to take out his warrant card then decided against it. Blood thundered through his body, laced with adrenaline. It was hard to accept but deep down he wanted the man to attack him, wanted a reason to unleash the pent up violence within him. As if sensing this, the cyclist stopped and backed away.

Lambert located a newsagent and found the newspaper Eustace Sackville sometimes worked for. He scanned through the paper looking for any mention of Sackville or Dempsey but couldn’t find anything.

‘When do your newspapers come in?’ he asked the person behind the counter.

‘First thing in the morning.’

‘Do you not get another batch in at any time?’

The boy looked over to a woman who Lambert presumed was the boy’s mother. She turned and smiled at Lambert. ‘Can I help?’ she said.

‘Do you know if there are any later editions of this newspaper?’

‘Not with us, I’m afraid. I think you may find later editions at the train station.’

‘Thank you.’

Outside, Lambert began running. He supposed he may have been able to find the story online if it existed but he wanted to see the print edition. He sped past shocked onlookers, running along the embankment until he reached Charing Cross Station.

He found a second newsagent and immediately spotted the paper. The headline on the cover was a different front page to the one he’d just seen:

Dead Lucky
ran the headline.

Family Killer Strikes Terror in Central London
,
Reported by Senior Crime Editor, Mia Helmer
.

Lambert grabbed the paper and cursed, walking out of the newsagents without paying. The story listed the murders of Moira Sackville, Laura Dempsey’s husband and children, and her parents, Mr and Mrs Pratchett. Apparently, Laura Dempsey was the lucky one for having escaped the killer. Lambert knew only too well that there were worse things than dying.

Helmer had gone back on her promise. Lambert skimmed through the three pages the paper had given over to the story. He absorbed the vague details and theories put forward by the journalist, until he reached the part he was sure had triggered the killer’s indignation. It appeared Mia Helmer had approached a so-called serial killer expert from the USA. Graham Milestone was reported to be a former FBI profiler and given the imprecise details from Mia on the recent murders had formulated a profile of the killer. Milestone suggested the killer was male, middle-aged, desperately lonely and in need of attention. It was standard stuff, something any criminology graduate could have come up with.

The article continued to state that the killer enjoyed watching his victims die. The paper had even given the killer an uninspired nickname, the Watcher. The profiler had his theories on this as well. One line in particular captured Lambert’s eye. ‘It was possible the killer suffered abuse from a family member as a child.’ Lambert scrunched the paper together and swore out loud, startling an elderly woman who’d been walking by him at the time.

‘Sorry,’ he said, understanding what had got the killer so agitated. He only hoped it hadn’t prompted him into speeding up his process.

Chapter 27

Lambert looked more agitated than normal. He handed her a newspaper and said, ‘Did you know about this?’

Matilda took the paper and unfolded it, Lambert having scrunched it into a ball. She saw the headline on the front and guessed the rest.

‘Helmer?’ she asked.

‘I want to see her first thing tomorrow,’ said Lambert. ‘What do you know about this profiling guy?’

Matilda carried on reading, trying to catch up with Lambert. She read to the part about the profiler and his rather obvious observations about the killer, now nicknamed the Watcher. ‘Never heard of him. I’ll run some checks.’

Lambert ignored her and clapped his hands. A hush descended over the incident room. ‘For those of you who haven’t done so, read the article by Mia Helmer. Helmer is Eustace Sackville’s editor. She’s just released a puff piece on the killer.’

A muttering of confusion filled the air, which Lambert cut short. ‘I’ll be speaking to Helmer first thing in the morning. The gist of it is that Helmer has accused the killer of being a victim of abuse. What effect this will have on the killer is unknown but we need to be prepared. The assumption is possibly correct, but the killer may not like it being public knowledge.’

Matilda surveyed her colleagues, noting the occasional look of doubt on some of their faces. If Lambert noticed, as she was sure he had, he chose not to mention it.

‘We can forget DC Harrogate’s objection at the moment. I want a closer look at all Blake’s employees, present and past. We can’t quiz them yet but if you find any link between them and Sackville or Dempsey, however minor, flag it up immediately.’

Matilda saw how impatient Lambert was as everyone read back their reports. It was past eight o’clock and they were all due at the local bar where DS Sherwood was having his leaving drinks after thirty years on the force. Matilda knew Lambert didn’t care about that. It was as if he was waiting for something else to happen on the case, something he could latch onto.

‘Everyone back at seven a.m.,’ he said, to a chorus of disapproval. ‘And don’t go crazy tonight,’ he warned, like an overzealous parent.

‘What’s got into him?’ said Walker, sidling over to her after Lambert had left.

‘He’s just keen for a breakthrough, as you should be,’ said Matilda, packing her belongings and moving away.

The party was already in full swing by the time she arrived. She was surprised to see Lambert was already there. She’d presumed he’d gone home. He was at the bar sipping on a beaker of whisky, talking to Tillman who did his usual impeccable job of ignoring her.

She walked to the bar metres away from the pair of them and ordered herself a pint of lager.

‘Oh get us one, Tilly.’ It was Rebecca Shah, one of the DCs Matilda was friendly with.

‘You made an effort,’ she said, ordering Shah a drink. They found a corner of the bar and clinked glasses together.

Shah was in her civvies, her face made up. Matilda felt a bit frumpy in comparison. She was still in the same clothes she’d worn all day, decades old jeans, light blouse and cardigan. The closest her face had come to make up was a splash of cold water in the toilets before leaving.

‘I’m on a bit of a promise,’ said Shah, giggling into her pint.

‘Who’s the lucky lad?’ said Matilda, nodding her head to a group of Shah’s colleagues at the other end of the bar.

‘You’re kidding aren’t you? I wouldn’t touch anyone in here with your hands. No, I’ve gone upmarket this time. A lawyer no less.’

‘Look at you,’ said Matilda. ‘Is he coming here?’

‘Oh yeah, I’m really going to let him come here in a room full of coppers. I’m meeting him later. Have a few drinks with you guys then I’m going to head off.’

‘I’m probably going to do the same,’ said Matilda, feeling the tiredness seep through her.

‘What about you? Seeing anyone at the moment?’ said Shah.

‘No time for such frivolities,’ said Matilda, knowing the truth would not only shock the young constable but might result in her not speaking to her again.

‘What can I get you ladies?’ said Walker, approaching them.

Matilda couldn’t help but display her distaste, and noticed Shah had picked up on it. ‘Nothing for us, thanks,’ said Shah.

‘I think Matilda can answer for herself, Becky,’ said Walker. He’d cleaned up since the incident room, changing into a new shirt, his hair gelled back, slick like a parody of an Italian gangster, his thick beard perfect as ever.

‘Nothing for me,’ said Matilda.

‘Suit yourself,’ said Walker and headed towards the bar.

‘What was that about?’ said Shah.

‘Oh nothing.’

Shah hesitated. Looking sheepish she said, ‘Have you two…?’

‘God, no,’ said Matilda.

Shah took a long drink. ‘Does he want to?’

‘He’s only human,’ said Matilda, laughing.

‘I’m afraid I may have…’ said Shah.

‘You and Walker? When?’

‘Couple of years back now, when I’d just joined. Naive and foolish. It was just a night.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean anything when I said…’

‘No, you’re right,’ said Shah. ‘You’re best clear of him.’

‘Let me get us some more drinks.’

‘My round,’ said Shah.

Walker approached her as Shah was at the bar. ‘She’s a pretty one.’

Matilda sighed. ‘Don’t you see enough of me in the daytime? The room is full of people, why don’t you go and pester someone else?’ From the corner of her eye Matilda saw Tillman glance over, quickly diverting his attention when he knew he’d been caught looking.