Dead Lucky (15 page)

As the killer had suggested, the assistant chief was still active in North Shields. A former member of the Met, he’d moved north some thirty years ago. The System’s file was detailed, numbering in the hundreds of pages. It listed Kennedy’s rise through the ranks, and every case he had reported since being a beat cop thirty plus years ago.

Lambert was in a position to run a search on the man, and cross reference that search with everyone currently being investigated on the Sackville and Dempsey case. Despite being an assistant chief constable, Kennedy would not be aware of the search. Only Tillman and one or two nameless superiors would have such access.

He saved the searches without sending the request and logged out of The System.

It had been over two months since he’d last gone for a drink, having put himself on a self-imposed abstinence kick. Now he could think of nothing better than sitting outside in the sunshine drinking some ice-cold lager.

‘Now, how did I know I’d find you here?’ said a voice as he was about to enter the bar.

For the first time in days, Lambert smiled. ‘Sarah,’ he said.

DCI Sarah May smiled back at him. She was out of her normal work outfit, dressed in a pale summer dress which rose above her knees. Her dark hair was loose on her shoulders. With the sun shining behind her Lambert thought he hadn’t seen such a splendid sight in months.

‘I see your investigative skills are still top notch,’ he said.

‘This is people-finding 101,’ said May. ‘Once I knew your address, the next step was to find the nearest bar. It’s hardly rocket science. Are you going to buy me a drink then?’

They walked inside, the place overflowing with customers. ‘You realise this is pure coincidence,’ he said. ‘I haven’t drunk in months.’

‘Save it and get me a white wine. See you outside.’

Lambert took a heavy drink from his pint at the bar and ordered a second as he waited for May’s wine to arrive. He felt an instant hit from the drink, the built up tension beginning to escape from his body.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’ he said to May, who had found a spot in the beer garden under the shade of an overhanging tree.

‘What, and spoil the surprise? I’m down here on work actually, decided to give myself the afternoon off. So, tell me about this new case?’ she said.

Lambert took another drink, the problems of the case fading further away. May edged close to him, her thigh pressing lightly against his. She already knew about Eustace Sackville. He updated her on Laura Dempsey and the woman’s parents.

‘Sounds like a doozy,’ she said. ‘You do pick them.’

‘A doozy?’ he said, revelling in the humour he saw in May’s eyes. ‘Feels like they pick me sometimes.’ He told her about Mia Helmer and the USB stick that was with the tech guys as they spoke. He decided to omit the details of his conversation with the killer for the time being.

‘So Sackville’s missing?’

‘Perhaps. He’s not answering his calls.’

‘But you think this Blake is involved?’

‘He’s involved somehow. As normal I’m not privy to all the information. I’ve been told not to speak to him again unless I have some actual evidence.’ He hadn’t seen Sarah in over a month but it was like they’d never been apart. He was totally relaxed in her company. He only wished he knew how to tell her.

‘So are you going to show me this new flat of yours?’ she asked.

Lambert downed the rest of his drink in one go. ‘It is pretty awful’ he said, as he led her away.

Lambert forgot about everything for the next few hours.

‘This reminds me of being a student,’ said May. They lay together on the queen size bed on top of the sheets. He felt the heat from her body, the air within the room sticky with moisture.

‘You mean lounging about in the afternoon?’ asked Lambert.

‘Yes that, and my surroundings.’

‘It’s only temporary,’ said Lambert, playfully pushing her away and stepping out of bed. He moved to a window and pulled the curtains open, trying in vain to get some cool air into the room from the small window.

‘How are things with Sophie?’ asked Sarah, wrapping herself in the top sheet.

‘She’s back home now. And the baby’s fine by all accounts.’

‘Has she said anything about you two?’

‘Us two?’ said Lambert.

‘Come on, Michael, you know she stills wants you as part of her life.’

‘I’m not sure about that,’ said Lambert.

‘Why else would she have invited you to the hospital?’

‘It’s not my child, Sarah.’

‘I know but she is Chloe’s sister. There’s still a life there for you if you want it.’

Lambert felt all the tension return to his body. He wasn’t sure what Sarah wanted from him or how best to answer what she’d said. It wasn’t like her to seek assurance, but maybe that’s what she’d wanted all along.

As if reading his thoughts she moved over to him. She placed her hand on his chin and lifted his head up. ‘I’m not trying to get rid of you, you fool. The last thing I want to do is push you back to her but there are more important things to consider.’

He kissed her, her lips wet and salty with sweat.

‘Shower?’ he suggested.

‘You go ahead. I’m going to have a drink.’

Lambert turned the shower on to its lowest setting until the ancient faucet began spewing drips of cold water. Minutes later, the doorbell rang and he turned the shower off and dried. He pulled on his dressing gown and returned to the living area in time to see Sarah dressed in his underwear and t-shirt leading a bemused and smirking Matilda Kennedy into the room.

Lambert stood in the main room and pulled his dressing gown tighter.

‘I see you’ve met DCI Sarah May,’ he said to Kennedy, who still wore a slightly bemused look. The two women looked at each other and exchanged smiles.

‘Sorry to interrupt, I did try to call, sir.’

‘What is it?’

‘We’ve managed to crack the files. The tech team’s working through them as we speak but I’ve found some information that may be useful for tracking Eustace Sackville down.’

‘Okay, give me ten minutes to get changed.’

‘Tea?’ said Sarah May to Kennedy.

‘I’m fine, thank you. I think I’ll wait downstairs. It was lovely to meet you.’

‘Likewise,’ said Sarah.

‘She’s nice,’ said Sarah after Kennedy had left.

Lambert didn’t reply and began getting changed.

‘Much prettier than you’d let on.’

‘I haven’t said anything about how she looks,’ said Lambert.

‘And rather young.’

‘I didn’t say anything,’ protested Lambert.

‘I’m only teasing.’

Lambert pulled on his jacket. ‘Can you stay?’ he asked.

‘Sorry,’ said May leaning towards him and kissing him on the cheek. ‘Duty calls. I’ll be in London for the next few days. I’ll let you know when I leave for Bristol.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Don’t look so forlorn,’ said May, placing her hand on his cheek. ‘Give me a call when things have settled down a bit.’

‘Okay,’ said Lambert. ‘You can let yourself out I take it.’

‘Of course. I’m not a DCI for nothing, you know.’

Kennedy was waiting for him outside his building, leaning against her new car.

‘Wipe that smirk off your face,’ he warned her.

She lifted her hands up in mock surrender. ‘I’m saying nothing.’

‘You’re still smiling though.’

She moved her hand slowly across her mouth and the smile disappeared.

‘One of the files had some photos. Old ones, I think, of Mr and Mrs Sackville’s honeymoon. I recognised the place, Broadstairs in Kent. I did some research and found a caravan site. Apparently the Sackvilles have been there every summer for the last thirty years. I thought we could go and take a look now. It’s only an hour or so away.’

‘You just want to try out your new car, don’t you?’ said Lambert climbing into the passenger seat.

‘I gave the keys to my last car to someone and never saw it again.’

‘Enough talk, let’s go.’

The sun had set by the time they reached Broadstairs. ‘We should probably have waited until tomorrow,’ said Kennedy, as they drove through the back roads to the caravan site. It was a clear night, and away from the pollution of the city the sky was blanketed by stars.

‘We’re here now.’

The caravan site Sackville used was on private ground, reserved for owners of the static caravans. There was no reception area so they had been unable to call ahead. Kennedy drove the car up a dirt track and parked in a makeshift carpark. The site wasn’t illuminated so Lambert used his flashlight to see where he was going. ‘Which number?’

‘Fifty-eight,’ said Kennedy.

A haze of insects followed the gaze of the torchlight. The caravans had seen better days. The harsh glare of the light revealed rusting structures in need of paint. Lambert heard the gentle lap of the sea, a background noise competing with the incessant chatter of the grasshoppers.

‘Here,’ said Kennedy, pointing to a rectangular static caravan perched surprisingly close to a cliff edge.

Lambert ran his torchlight up and down the structure. Four horizontal hoops adorned the caravan, alternative lines of brown and dirty white. Lambert shone the torch beneath the caravan, and jumped back as something darted out of the shaded area and scampered into the undergrowth by the cliff edge. ‘What the hell was that?’

Kennedy shrugged. ‘Fox?’

Lambert knocked on the front door, his hand yielding into the soft plastic. No one answered so he shone the torch through a side window. ‘Someone’s using the place. I can see some takeaway cartons.’ He peered closer. ‘Looks like a copy of today’s paper.’

‘Which one?’

‘Sackville’s’

‘What should we do?’

‘What time is it?’ asked Lambert.

‘Ten forty-five.’

‘We wait till the pubs close.’

Lambert switched off the flashlight. They both sat on the cliff edge, moonlight bouncing off the sea. ‘Romantic,’ said Kennedy. ‘Speaking of which…’

‘I’m not sure we should be pursuing this line of conversation,’ said Lambert.

‘Come on, sir, spill the beans.’

‘Nothing to tell.’

Kennedy fell briefly silent. ‘She’s the DI you worked with on the Souljacker thing?’

‘DCI now.’

A sound startled them, someone stumbling up the path. The figure appeared to be singing, a tuneless noise which sounded to Lambert like a poor interpretation of Danny Boy.

‘Sackville?’ whispered Kennedy.

‘Let’s not startle him.’

They got to their feet, Lambert reaching for his flashlight but not switching it on. The figure came into sight. It had to be Sackville. Lambert recognised the man’s body shape. Short, stocky, with an increasingly protruding stomach. They both had to stifle a laugh as Sackville stumbled and fell to the ground, releasing a line of expletives into the night air.

‘He’s carrying a bottle,’ said Kennedy.

Sackville took a swig from the bottle, and fumbled in his pocket for a key to the caravan. Lambert knew there was no easy way to announce their presence. He switched on the flashlight. ‘Eustace, don’t be alarmed, it’s Michael Lambert.’

The tactic didn’t work. Sackville was momentarily caught in the glare of the light as he weighed up his options. Making a decision, he dropped the bottle, letting out a cry of despair as it smashed on the stone steps, and began running down the path.

‘Eustace,’ said Lambert, amused and exasperated. He jogged down the path after him, the journalist’s footing slipping with every other step. Lambert reached out and pulled on Sackville’s shoulder, avoiding a clumsy attempt at a punch. ‘Jesus, will you calm down. It’s Lambert.’

Sackville bent over, his hands on his knees, and vomited.

Lambert took a few steps back, the acrid smell overpowering. ‘That’s not nice, Eustace.’

Sackville stood up, a line of sick dripping from his mouth. He used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe it away. ‘You’re a surprise I could do without,’ he said.

Sackville led them to the caravan where Lambert attempted to make them all coffee. ‘You know my colleague, DS Kennedy.’

‘Charmed, excuse the mess.’

Lambert found three plastic beakers and filled them with instant coffee. ‘Get that down you, Eustace.’

‘How did you track me here?’ Sackville looked genuinely concerned. The implication was clear. If they could find him, then other people could.

‘Who are you hiding from, Eustace?’

‘I think you know.’

‘Blake.’

Sackville winced as he drank the coffee. ‘Could you Irish this up for me?’

‘Not yet, you’re borderline incoherent as it is.’

Lambert told him about the files they’d found at his flat.

‘Mia broke in?’

‘We believe so.’

‘She hasn’t got the files though?’

‘No, we have them. We’re going through them now. Tell me, what do you have on Blake?’

‘Nothing I can prove. I told Mia a cover story. The so-called rivals of his are actually his colleagues. At least, he thinks they are. Croatians.’

‘Trafficking?’ asked Kennedy.

Sackville nodded. ‘Every time I get near, someone disappears. And then Moira…’ He began sobbing. Great, heaving cries, the sound of days of anguish being released.

‘You know DS Harrogate?’ asked Lambert, noticing the look of surprise from Kennedy.

‘I know of him. I know he is investigating Blake somehow.’

‘How much do you have on Blake, Eustace? Enough for him to take Moira’s life?’

‘I could write a book on Blake, but couldn’t prove a thing.’

‘Is there anything new? Something which could have provoked him?’ said Kennedy

‘No, but if there was why the fuck didn’t he just kill me?’

Lambert touched Sackville’s shoulder. ‘It could have been someone from the other side, his so-called colleagues, the Croatians. The message could be for everyone else’s benefit. Mess with us, and your family is at risk.’

‘Could be. I wouldn’t put anything past those sick bastards.’

‘And what about Laura Dempsey?’ said Kennedy.

‘You’re sure you don’t know anything about her, Eustace?’

Sackville shook his head. ‘Send me over everything you have on her, and I’ll do some research. See if she links in somehow. Seems unlikely.’