Dead Lucky (19 page)

‘Just being friendly, Tilly. Jesus.’

It was the first time he’d ever used that name for her. It was a name only her closest friends called her and she didn’t like him using it. ‘Kennedy will be fine.’

Shah returned with the drinks, placing her shoulder in between her and Walker. The three of them stood in silence for a second before Walker finally took the hint and moved off.

‘He was like this with me. Just wouldn’t take no for an answer,’ said Shah. ‘I was flattered at the time but now I know he’s like this with lots of people.’

Matilda had heard the rumours.

‘He’s clever, mind you. Never quite steps over the line.’

Matilda took a sip of her drink. ‘Enough talk about that twat. Tell me more about this mysterious lawyer of yours.’

She ended up staying longer than planned. Shah left for her date sometime around nine and Matilda spent the next two hours moving from conversation to conversation, most of the talk focusing on work and the retiring sergeant’s notorious libido. At closing time she found herself deep in conversation with Devlin. She felt quite lightheaded, despite pacing herself through the evening.

‘It’s great being part of this team. I feel really lucky,’ said Devlin. Matilda stared at the bar light above the constable’s head as he talked, the bulb shining down on his hair, highlighting his prematurely balding scalp.

‘Working under DCI Lambert is a real privilege,’ continued Devlin.

‘Oh I agree,’ said Matilda. ‘One for the road?’

Devlin shrugged and wobbled, and had to use the bar to regain his balance. ‘We shouldn’t really,’ he said.

‘Two G&Ts,’ Matilda shouted to the barman.

‘We’re closed,’ said the barman, a man of indecipherable age.

‘Come on, George. It’s for me,’ said Matilda.

The barman shook his head but poured the drinks anyway. Devlin excused himself and stumbled to the bathrooms. Matilda scanned the thinning crowd and smiled as she saw that Tillman was still there talking to some senior busybody from the murder squad.

She wiped the smile off her face quickly and returned to her drink, downing the gin and tonic. It was a mistake. The alcohol was having a greater effect on her than normal.

‘I think you’ve had enough, DS Kennedy,’ said the barman.

‘I think
you’ve
had enough,’ replied Matilda, noticing her own slurred voice pattern.

George put both arms onto the bar and raised his eyebrows.

‘I need some air,’ said Matilda.

‘Shall I order you a taxi?’

Matilda shook her head, too tired to speak any further. The next thing she knew, she was outside but couldn’t remember getting there. Her arm was stuck out, hailing every passing car as if it was a taxi. This is not good, she thought to herself. She’d be back at work in a few hours and would be nursing the mother of all hangovers. Her head thumped. She bent over and found herself staring at her shoes. Looking to her right, she noticed another pair of shoes. Immaculate black shoes, shined to perfection.

‘What do you want, Walker?’ she said, lifting her shoulders, mustering every ounce of will she had to sober up.

‘Just checking you’re okay,’ said Walker, sounding plausibly genuine. ‘You look a bit wobbly.’

Matilda looked around her. The bar was shut, locked up, lights switched off. A couple of officers were leant up against the wall smoking. She sighed inwardly, relieved. Then Walker put his arm around her and the anger bubbled up. She shouldn’t have to be relieved to see other police officers. She shouldn’t have to be concerned about one of her colleagues’ intentions. She darted her left shoulder backwards, shrugging off Walker’s arm.

‘Get off me,’ she said, through gritted teeth.

‘Steady, Tilly,’ said Walker. ‘I’m just checking you’re okay.’ He said the words softly so as not to draw attention to himself.

‘Don’t fucking touch me and don’t call me Tilly.’

‘Look, if you don’t want my help just say so. I can get a taxi for you. Make sure you get home safely.’

She was amazed that he had the temerity to think this would work. Even in her drunken state she saw right through him, the fake concern, the soft words and gentle hand gestures. She looked around, dismayed to see the other officers had disappeared. ‘Just go fuck yourself, Walker. Your little tricks won’t work with me.’

It was enough for the real Walker to reveal himself. The concerned face was replaced by the snarling arrogance she’d always associated him with. ‘What? I’m too low a pay grade for you?’ he said.

Matilda turned her body to face him. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘I know things, Tilly,’ he said, emphasising the word Tilly, his head poking forward to hers as if in challenge.

She resisted the bait. It was impossible that he knew about Tillman, they’d hidden their tracks too well.

‘Okay, Walker, whatever. You carry on living in your little dream world. You may have fooled the others but I keep my eyes open and I won’t be scared to let others know.’

‘I’ve absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, but that sounded like some sort of threat to me.’

Matilda was about to respond, was about to tell him everything she’d heard about him, when a voice rang out from nowhere.

‘Evening troops,’ came the familiar baritone.

Walker tensed at the voice, the arrogance vanishing in an instant.

‘Sir,’ she said.

Behind her stood Glenn Tillman, feet wide apart, ready for action.

Chapter 28

The incident room was sprinkled with broken bodies slouched on chairs. At least two officers sat with their heads in their hands, everyone’s face was drawn, washed out, and the air conditioning, its gentle hum the only sound in the funeral-like atmosphere, did little to hide the fetid aroma in the room. Lambert slammed his work file on the desk. ‘Who died?’ he asked.

The team shuffled themselves into position, straightening backs, willing themselves out of their hangovers. Lambert didn’t read the riot act. It was unprofessional, but they had been working full out for some time now and he couldn’t blame them. ‘Right, get over it everyone. We’re back to work now. Save your hangovers for this evening. Where are we, Sergeant?’

Kennedy raised her head. From the effort, it looked as if it weighed a tonne. Her voice came out as a faint rasp. She took a swig of water and tried again. ‘I have arranged to see Laura Dempsey this morning. As requested,’ she added, with a hint of accusation.

Lambert nodded. He was battling his own private hangover, though he imagined it was half of what Kennedy was enduring. Lambert had his own plans for the morning which he decided not to share with the team yet. He handed out more duties to the team and finished the meeting before everyone lost interest. ‘Anyone seen Walker?’ he asked before wrapping up.

The faces were blank. Kennedy had returned her focus to her phone so he couldn’t read her reaction. Lambert remained standing, wondering if something was being hidden from him. In the end he relented. ‘Tell him to see me the second he arrives.’

Tillman looked little better than the rest of the team. He was sitting behind his desk, nursing a metallic beaker. ‘Late night?’ said Lambert.

Tillman screwed up his face, a patchwork of wrinkles appearing on his ample face. ‘You could say that. What can I do for you, Lambert?’

‘We haven’t had time to talk about DS Harrogate yet, sir,’ said Lambert, taking a seat opposite the man.

Tillman groaned and sipped the hot liquid in his beaker, letting out a satisfied sigh as he placed the drink on the desk. Lambert noticed a slight colouring on Tillman’s knuckles. Tillman caught him looking, and pulled his hand away. ‘What do you want to know about Harrogate?’

Lambert paused, thought about asking about the knuckle marks and decided against it. ‘I want to know why he is impeding my investigation, and why you are allowing it.’

Tillman snorted, but Lambert could tell his comment had annoyed him. The old Tillman would never have let this happen. Things had changed since Lambert had left The Group for his enforced sabbatical. Tillman’s powers had been curtailed, and Lambert wanted to press the point. Although it pained his superior, he hoped to provoke a reaction from him so he could get some answers.

‘Why am I allowing it?’

Lambert shrugged his shoulders.

Tillman placed his elbows on the desk and linked his hands. ‘You always were a manipulative sod, do you know that?’ He rubbed his face, air snorting out of his nose. Lambert sensed an internal power struggle within the man. He’d obviously received orders, but Lambert knew Tillman’s history – and orders were traditionally something which rarely troubled him. ‘I told you when you returned, Lambert, The Group is no more. We don’t have the same powers as before. Harrogate, and those many pay ranks about him have a long standing operation on Blake. It takes precedence.’

‘This is you? Glenn Tillman?’

‘Steady, Lambert.’

‘Well, this is horseshit, sir. Blake’s a major suspect on a series of murders, each more elaborate than the last, and I’m supposed to take a back seat.’

‘Get over yourself, Lambert. No one is asking you to take a back seat. As soon as you have something concrete, then you will have my support. Until then, just modify your investigation.’

‘Modify.’ It was Lambert’s turn to snort. They sat in silence, broken only by the sound of Tillman lifting his drink and gulping its contents. ‘Does he have someone on the inside?’

Tillman’s head bobbed up and down as he considered his response. Lambert had been undercover before and knew the drill. It was likely that Harrogate was the undercover officer’s handler. Only a handful of senior officers would know about the officer’s identity. ‘I can’t comment.’

Lambert took that as confirmation. ‘Do you know who it is?’

Tillman stared back at him blankly. Lambert thought about Blake’s team. His security personnel and the faces he’d glimpsed inside the house. It was some feat infiltrating Blake’s world, and it was possible the operation had been going on for years. Lambert held his hands up. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You going to tell me who you punched?’ he added, as an afterthought.

‘Get out,’ said Tillman.

Kennedy was still at her desk when he returned to the main office. ‘You look terrible,’ he told her.

‘Thanks, sir.’

‘Well, you do.’

Kennedy laughed. ‘Charmer. I may have had one drink too many last night. It won’t affect my work.’

‘It better not. When are you seeing Laura Dempsey?’

‘I spoke to the ward sister, and we’ve arranged for me to visit at eleven a.m. Dr Hughes will be present. Dr Hughes took the decision to tell Laura about her parents’ death last night. She has been placed under psychiatric care.’

‘Jesus, I’m not surprised.’ He could only imagine, and was scared to do so. He’d seen tragic loss in his time on the force but nothing like this. To lose your husband and children, only to be told your parents had died as well, all by the same killer, by the same gruesome hand. If it was a revenge killing, Lambert shuddered to think what Dempsey must have done to provoke such a reaction.

‘Come on,’ he said to Kennedy. ‘You can come with me to see Mia Helmer and we can go together to see Dempsey.

Lambert drove. Kennedy’s mood had not brightened. She stared out of the windscreen as if she was suffering tunnel vision. All the colour had left her face, even her red hair looked dank and lifeless. ‘Have you eaten?’

Kennedy took a few seconds to answer. ‘Sorry, what?’

‘Have you eaten?’

‘Dry toast.’

Lambert didn’t answer, not wanting to lecture her. He’d been in her situation too many times to start pointing fingers. ‘Anything you want to tell me about last night?’

He sensed a shift in Kennedy’s breathing, as if he’d stumbled on something she wished to keep secret. ‘Like what?’ she said, her focus still on the oncoming road.

‘You tell me. You’re not your useful bubbly self.’

She tore her eyes from the road and looked at him. ‘Bubbly?’ she said, a hint of brightness in her tone.

‘I don’t know. Effervescent? Energetic? Still breathing?’

‘I’m just hungover, sir. I’ll be fine soon enough.’

Lambert nodded. ‘You heard from Walker today?’

Although he was concentrating on driving, he noticed her body tense. He’d seen Walker approach her and Shah last night and the conversation had looked uneasy at best. He’d hoped partnering them would have helped resolve whatever differences they had, but feared it may have served only to have strained their relationship.

‘Phone’s on silent,’ she said, her focus returning to the road – signalling the conversation was over.

The entrance to the newspaper’s offices was full of hurrying people. The temperature had dropped significantly since yesterday, and Lambert zipped up his jacket. ‘Mia Helmer,’ he said to one of the receptionists, displaying his warrant card. ‘We know the way.’

No one bothered them as they made the way across the open-plan area to Helmer’s office. Heads were leant forwards, eyes straining on the copy in front of them, their presence nothing out of the ordinary.

Lambert didn’t bother knocking. He opened Helmer’s door and walked straight in. Helmer was in conversation with two suited men. Both were in their sixties and looked like identikit models of each other. Both had full heads of greying hair, and finely tailored suits which did a good job of masking the considerable girth of their stomachs. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ said one of the pair, getting to his feet.

Lambert didn’t offer any explanation, simply waited for Helmer to dismiss the men. ‘They’re for me,’ she said.

‘Shall I call security?’ said the man who’d got to his feet.

‘No, it’s fine, Lance. I’ll get back to you shortly.’

Both men grimaced as they walked by, the talkative one looking Lambert up and down with a look of distaste.

‘Now that wasn’t very friendly, DCI Lambert,’ said Helmer, once the men had left and Kennedy had shut the door.

‘You’re lucky I haven’t dragged you out of this office,’ said Lambert. ‘Yet.’

Helmer rolled her eyes, ignoring Lambert’s threat. ‘DS Kennedy, how are you?’