Dead Lucky (34 page)

Lambert stared at the man. ‘What operation? This is just a whim surveillance. You’re hoping Blake’s partners – or rivals, you tell me which – are going to turn up. And then what? You think Kennedy is going to overhear something?’

‘One of my officers is dead, Lambert.’

‘Look, I realise that. Still…’

‘Still nothing,’ said Harrogate.

‘Will everyone take a few seconds. Michael, why do you want to evacuate the party?’ asked Tillman.

Lambert looked at each man in turn, and concluded there wasn’t going to be an evacuation. ‘I think Curtis Blake maybe in danger. Or at least, his family.’ He told them about Neil Barnes, and his theory on why Lennox, Moira Sackville and the Dempsey family had been killed.

‘So now you think Blake is a potential victim, not the killer?’ said Harrogate. The man’s voice was laced with sarcasm, and Lambert was seconds from dragging him from the van regardless of the senior officers present.

‘Where are we on tracing Neil Barnes?’ asked Tillman, ignoring the squabbling.

Lambert shrugged. ‘The trace goes cold in his teens.’

‘Jesus,’ said Tyler. ‘You expect us to evacuate Blake’s house, declare that we’ve been monitoring him, on this half-baked theory? Where do you get them from, Tillman?’

Tillman was motionless. Lambert could tell Tyler was getting to his superior, but he also knew Tillman would examine the situation and reach his own conclusions regardless of allegiances. Telling them about his conversations with the Watcher may have been enough to sway Tillman, but he couldn’t risk sharing that information. The Watcher’s warning had been clear on that point.

‘I’m sorry, Michael. There’s not enough here to take such a step, you must know that?’

Lambert agreed. If someone else had proposed the idea, he would have derailed it. Even if he told them about his conversations with the Watcher, he doubted he would have been able to sway them. He pulled his earphones back on and listened to Matilda Kennedy talking to a companion within the house, at the same time updating them on the situation.

‘It’s a lot bigger than I’d expected,’ said Kennedy.

‘Yeah, huge,’ said her female companion, clearly underwhelmed.

‘This main room must sit nearly two hundred people.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Have you noticed the guards?’

‘Noticed them, one of them practically touched me up on the way in. I’ll be speaking to the agency when I get back, double time or not.’

‘Have you seen the way they guard each entry to the main hall, and they are stationed at each of the doors in the house. At the bottom of the main staircase, by the toilets,’ said Kennedy, ignoring her companion.

‘Yeah,’ said the woman, momentarily coming to life. ‘Now you mention it, it’s a bit weird.’

‘I wonder if they’re armed,’ said Kennedy.

‘Guns, you mean?’ said the woman, panicked.

‘Just wondered,’ said Matilda. She paused, signalling that she thought they were carrying. ‘I’m only kidding. They wouldn’t be allowed, would they?’

Tillman was listening intently and glanced over at Lambert at the mention of guns. ‘We’ve two armed response units ready,’ he whispered, as if it would provide Lambert with some comfort.

As Kennedy continued her running commentary, Lambert logged onto The System and began scanning the copious notes from the case, desperate to find a link to Neil Barnes. He looked at profiles for Charles Robinson, and Noel Whitfield. He scanned through other names. Prue McKenzie, Moira Sackville’s best friend. Sandra Levinson, the librarian Moira had worked with. Lucy Marshall, Laura Dempsey’s colleague from the hospital. Mia Helmer, Eustace Sackville’s boss at the newspaper.

When nothing clicked, he began searching the uploaded files of the orphans and children from St Matthew’s. Photos of Elaine Jacobson and the other lost souls played before him, including Melissa Brady who Kennedy had interviewed.

A picture of Neil Barnes appeared on the screen. The Watcher as a ten-year-old, his life about to change irrevocably by the death of Elaine Jacobson, the sister he never had.

In his ear, Kennedy was talking to one of the security guards. ‘Who are you expecting, the royal family?’ she asked.

‘Please leave me to my job, ma’am,’ said the man, with the patient authority of a trained soldier.

An absurd notion came to Lambert as he listened. The voice of the soldier reminded him of the authority he’d heard from another of the people he’d interviewed. It wasn’t the voice itself, more the general cadence and speech pattern.

He uploaded the file of the former police officer DS Lindsay. He recalled the meeting in Leicester Square, the dignified way Lindsay described his troubled time in the force. The corruption he’d witnessed first-hand with his superior, DI Lennox. Like many officers his age, Lindsay had worked in the armed forces before joining the force. He was a former Royal Marine who’d spent five years in active service before returning to civilian life.

Lambert scrolled through the man’s records, only to reach a blank aged eighteen. He’d enrolled with the Navy on his eighteenth birthday, but there was no record, at least not present, of his life prior to this date. Lambert called Devlin. ‘I want you to find out everything you can on Lindsay before he joined the Navy. I need school records, ideally a copy of his birth certificate. And get a car to his place immediately. I want him in for questioning, but be discreet and polite about it.’

It was a long shot, and it was possible he was being guided by thoughts of the Souljacker case, but at this point there was nothing to lose.

Tillman signalled him outside. Lambert’s eyes took a couple of seconds to adjust to the sunlight as Tillman pulled the side door shut.

‘What the hell is going on?’ asked Tillman.

‘I could ask you the same thing.’

The heat of the van had clearly got to Tillman. His tight fitting shirt was soaked with perspiration. ‘I seem to spend half my working life giving you the benefit of the doubt, Lambert. This Neil Barnes thing, you really buy it?’

‘What’s not to buy? It explains everything, revenge killings mirroring Elaine Jacobson’s apparent suicide.’

‘What about Jacobson’s family?’

‘Orphaned from birth.’

‘What about the original owners of the children’s home? The guardians or carers or whatever the fuck they were?’

‘All accounted for, mainly no longer with us.’

‘And you think Barnes wants Blake next?’

‘It would be the natural conclusion.’

‘But if he is following the same MO then he will go for Blake’s family.’

‘I believe so, but maybe he’ll single out Blake for special attention.’

‘Jesus, this sort of shit just follows you about, Lambert. I thought this would be a simple murder case, now we have multiple victims and a dead policeman.’

Lambert went to protest, the policeman’s death was nothing to do with his investigation, but the energy had left him.

‘You think Kennedy’s in danger?’ asked Tillman, a subtle change to his voice.

‘What’s going on between you two, Glenn?’

Tillman shook his head, resigned. ‘I should have known you would find out.’

‘It’s not just me. Walker wants to report you.’

‘Don’t worry about that jumped-up prick. I have enough dirt on him.’

‘Be careful, Glenn.’

‘Don’t worry about me. What was that you were saying to Devlin?’

‘Lindsay. He was Lennox’s junior officer. We have no family information on him prior to him turning eighteen and joining the Navy. I don’t think anything will come of it but I’m sure if we find Neil Barnes, we find the killer, and Lindsay may know more than he’s letting on.’

The van door opened. Harrogate stuck out his head. ‘Blake has left his hotel. He should be here in the next twenty to thirty minutes.’

Chapter 56

There was a shift of atmosphere within the house. One of the agency staff summoned all the workers together into the kitchen and informed them that Blake and his wife were due within the next thirty minutes. The party was supposed to be a surprise, but until Blake’s arrival the guests were to be served drinks. Matilda was handed a tray of champagne flutes and sent out into the dining area.

She listened in to the conversations, desperate for a sign that her role there was not pointless. No one sounded concerned about the heightened security. They were too busy enjoying the free champagne.

Blake’s children were out in the hallway, growing increasingly excited by the imminent arrival of their parents. She knew their names from her files. Jessica, aged fifteen. Mitchell, aged twelve. Josh, aged seven, and Melody aged five. All four glowed with anticipation. The children were oblivious to their father’s crimes, at least for now, and for a second Matilda felt like an intruder gate-crashing a joyous family moment.

One of the security staff tore her from her regret. ‘You, back in there,’ said the man. From the files, she recognised him as Atkinson, Blake’s head of security.

‘Sorry, got lost,’ she said.

Atkinson kept his eyes on her as she returned to the main hall. She felt his gaze lingering as she turned away and served more champagne to the guests, who treated her as if she were invisible. ‘I guess Mr Blake will soon be here,’ she said to her colleague back in the kitchen area, for the benefit of her real colleagues who were hopefully still listening.

‘Sooner this is over, the better,’ said the woman. ‘These guys give me the creeps. Anyone even said thank you, yet?’

‘Nope,’ said Matilda. ‘I wonder what this Blake guy does. I presume all the guests are family and friends. No one looks out of place.’

The woman looked at her as if she was strange. ‘Not sure what you mean. Anyway,’ she said, taking another tray of champagne flutes.

Matilda knew her team would understand. There was no sign of the Croatians and it was increasingly unlikely they would be appearing now. She took one of the trays, half champagne flutes, half orange juice and returned to the main area. The security team looked tense. Atkinson was checking each exit point personally, nodding his approval to the guards. The tension was due to Blake’s arrival. Matilda presumed it would be the time the Croatians would attack, if that was what they had planned, with Blake out in the open.

With Atkinson’s attention on the guards, Matilda placed her tray down and snuck out into the hallway. Passing one of the guards, she kept her pace steady, her gaze forward as if she belonged in the area. The guard hesitated and continued walking.

Blake’s children were by the door, still excited. Checking no one was watching, Matilda snuck upstairs. If she was stopped, she would say she was looking for the bathroom. She whispered details of her location to the team. At the top of the stairs she turned left, noticing the back of a guard situated outside a room to her right. She skipped along the landing until she was out of sight.

She checked the doors as she edged along the corridor, each was locked. From the window she could see the large driveway which led to the house’s entrance. It was still light outside, the sky clouded. ‘Two guards on the driveway, two by the gate,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t tell if they’re armed.

She heard footsteps from the stairway and continued along the corridor, trying each door as she moved, ready to use her search for a bathroom as an excuse. She rounded another corner and was presented with a second set of stairs which she duly took, the sound of a radio coming from the landing above. She wanted to slip out of her shoes, to dim the sound as they hit the polished wood of the stairs, but it would look too suspicious if she was caught. ‘Oh, a second set of stairs,’ she whispered, as if surprised by the development.

No one was behind her and she edged to the top of the stairs peering down the second, smaller corridor. The sound was coming from a room a few metres to her right. She stepped onto the landing, thankful for the lush carpeting. Pushing herself against the wall, she sidestepped across the corridor until she reached the entrance to the room.

The radio blasted out hits from the eighties. Beneath the prominent sound she heard the hum of electricity. She had to see what was in the room but knew one more step would reveal her location. She looked behind her. Convinced she was not being watched, she poked her head around the entrance to the room, ready to tell whoever was there that she was lost.

As she’d expected, the room was a security centre. A guard sat watching a wall full of small television screens. His back was to her, and from her vantage point she could see the numerous locations of the house: the gated entrance with its two guards, the driveway and entrance to the house proper, numerous views of inside the house, including the kitchen and at least five separate bathrooms. Nowhere was spared, and Matilda marvelled at how paranoid Blake must be to have every inch of the house under surveillance. Even the children’s bedrooms were being monitored.

She was about to retreat when something caught her eye in the banks of televisions to the guard’s left. The image on the screen kept on changing from inside to outside the building. It was the outside she recognised.

The guard swivelled on his chair to face her, his face painted with a smile. ‘I’ve been watching you snoop, little lady. You think you’re going to be able to steal from us?’

Matilda froze, happy to be thought of as merely a potential thief. She stepped out so she was facing the man. ‘No, of course not. I was just looking for the bathroom.’

‘Yeah, right,’ said the guard, as a second guard placed a hand on her shoulder.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she said, as the second guard held her shoulder and arm with a fierce pinch.

‘Somewhere you can’t cause any trouble.’

‘Right, I’m going home,’ she said, as he guided her down the stairs to the first floor landing.

‘Not yet, you’re not,’ said the man. He walked her along the first floor landing to a room which was being guarded by a third guard. ‘Another one for you,’ said Guard Two.

Guard Three stepped aside, as Guard Two guided Matilda in the room with a gentle push.

Another one of the agency staff was inside the room, sitting on a king-sized bed. ‘What are you in here for?’ said Matilda, as the bedroom door was slammed shut.