Dead Lucky (21 page)

He approached the desk and asked to speak to Jeremy Taylor. The petite woman behind the desk smiled politely at him and asked him if he had an appointment.

‘Just tell him Michael Lambert is here to see him.’

If the woman recognised his name, she hid it well. ‘I’m afraid he won’t see anyone without an appointment. Perhaps if you could tell me what it’s about.’

Lambert showed her his warrant card.

‘I’ll try,’ she said, after taking a couple of glances at his face to match the picture.

‘Thank you,’ said Lambert, taking a seat on one of the leather sofas in the reception area.

He was surprised when five minutes later, Jeremy Taylor appeared. He’d thought he would have sent his PA to collect him. Lambert stood, dismayed to find his heart was racing. Taylor was dressed immaculately in a dark suit. He looked as reticent as Lambert felt. He didn’t offer a handshake, which didn’t surprise Lambert after their last encounter. ‘Michael,’ he said. ‘How may I help you?’

Lambert had hoped he would be able to put his feelings about Taylor and his relationship with Sophie to one side, but seeing him again in the flesh made him realise everything was still too raw. He fought the rising wave of adrenaline in his system, and the absurd desire to strike out at the man. ‘I’m here on police business. I would like to speak to you about one of your clients, Curtis Blake.’

‘Oh,’ said Taylor, momentarily confused. ‘Okay, please follow me.’

Lambert followed him to the lifts, and was relieved when a number of other people joined them inside. By the time they reached Taylor’s floor, they were alone in the lift. ‘Here we are,’ said Taylor as the doors opened.

Lambert stepped out onto the plush carpet of the top floor, and realised he’d been holding his breath. He let the breath seep out of his mouth as he followed a pace behind Taylor.

‘In here should be fine,’ said Taylor, opening the door to a conference room. ‘Please take a seat. May I get you anything to drink?’

The majority of space in the conference room was taken up by a giant oval shaped table, with over twenty chairs on the periphery. Lambert shook his head and pulled out one of the leather backed seats.

‘So, this is regarding Curtis Blake? You realise I am bound by client confidentiality.’

Lambert tried to get the image of Taylor holding his wife’s child out of his mind. He needed to focus. He ignored Taylor’s last statement. ‘How long have you worked for Mr Blake?’

Taylor’s eyes darted upwards. ‘Personally, ten, maybe twelve years. I think he’s been with the firm for a good time longer. He is one of our oldest clients.’

‘And what exactly is it you do for him?’

Taylor frowned. ‘I would have thought that was obvious.’

‘I realise you are his solicitors but what specific area of legal expertise do you provide for him?’

‘You realise this is highly inappropriate?’

‘You want to talk to me about inappropriateness?’

Taylor flushed, and Lambert regretted the jibe. ‘Mr Blake has a number of interests. When you have an organisation as large as his, there are a number of legal ramifications. We represent him across the board, everything from personnel to building contracts.’

Lambert pursed his lips and nodded in beat to his rapid heartbeat. ‘And if anything…
untoward
is discovered, you would turn a blind eye?’

‘I’m not sure what you are insinuating, but I can assure you this firm would never be involved in anything unethical or illegal.’

‘You must know about Blake’s reputation, Jeremy.’

Taylor bristled at the use of his first name. ‘Please, tell me what this is about. Is Mr Blake under some form of investigation? If so, this meeting will need to be reconvened in a more appropriate setting.’

Lambert considered telling him about the killings. He wondered if it would shock Taylor, or if the man would maintain the façade of composure he liked to present. He wasn’t really sure why he was here. Taylor wouldn’t be allowed to divulge any specific details about Blake’s business and lifestyle. Lambert had understood that before he’d arrived. Was he there for work, or to size up Taylor? To see what type of man would be parenting Chloe’s sister.

He feared it was the latter. ‘Okay, I see this is a waste of time.’

He stood, Taylor mirroring his actions.

‘I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,’ said Taylor. The man looked nervous, his gaze not quite catching Lambert’s.

It was hard for Lambert to admit but it wasn’t Taylor’s fault. Lambert had grown apart from Sophie following Chloe’s death. They’d slept in separate rooms, had functioned as little more than flatmates for a long time. Albeit, flatmates with a shared tragedy. He couldn’t blame Sophie for seeking comfort elsewhere, any more than he could blame the man before him.

‘I realise that,’ said Lambert. ‘It will take a bit of getting used to. Thanks for your time, I can see myself to the lifts.’

Outside he considered entering the nearest pub and easing his growing tension with a few drinks. Instead he opted for a coffee shop, ordering an Americano and a multi-seed muffin which gave the illusion of being healthy.

Too many distractions, he thought as he logged onto The System. With Walker’s black eye, and his own unwise meeting with Taylor, there was a danger the case could spiral out of his control. He took out his notebook, and started writing. Sometimes the old-fashioned ways were the best. He listed the victims, then crossed them out and wrote the names of the two surviving members. Eustace Sackville and Laura Dempsey, formerly Laura Patchett. He was positive they were the key.

He wrote another name, Curtis Blake. Dempsey had recognised Blake’s picture. Dempsey, Sackville and Blake were linked. If he discovered the connection, he was sure everything would follow.

A message was waiting for him on The System. After Moira Sackville’s death, he’d put out a nationwide search for suspicions deaths involving wrist injuries. The report had come back. It made for interesting reading. Most of the deaths were botched, or mistimed suicide attempts.

He read reports of four separate teenage girls who had taken their lives in the last month, each found in their bathtubs. The parents’ statements were harrowing. The same phrases repeated over and over. ‘
We had no idea. It was a cry for help. She seemed so happy. We loved her so much. If only we’d got there earlier.
’

Another case involved a woman who had accidently sliced her own wrist with a box cutter whilst at work, severing an artery and dying in front of bewildered co-workers.

Only one case was marked as a possible murder inquiry. Six months ago, a man by the name of Neil Lennox had died in his sleep in Gloucester. Lennox was retired and lived alone. Both his wrists had been severed, the vertical slash marks similar to those found on Moira Sackville and the Dempsey victims. His body hadn’t been discovered for forty-eight hours, not until a care worker had been unable to gain access to the man’s house for their weekly appointment. The pathologist report had suggested that it may have taken Lennox up to six hours to die. Although there was no sign of a break in, a thorough search of the house had failed to uncover anything which could have caused the injuries sustained by Lennox.

Lambert closed his eyes and pictured a frail old man dying. In the vision was a second figure, the killer sitting opposite and watching the fruit of his first attempt. It was probably all a coincidence, wishful thinking on his part, but when he read further, Lambert couldn’t hide a growing sense that what he was a reading was a breakthrough.

Not only had Lennox been a former police officer, but he’d worked in the Met for over thirty years. Lambert slammed his laptop shut.

Lambert headed back to the station, convinced that somehow Lennox was the missing link between Dempsey and Sackville.

Chapter 31

Matilda bought a sandwich from the canteen and returned to her desk. Her blood still thundered in her ears. She’d fooled Lambert into believing she was over her hangover, but it was still present. At least she could function now. When she’d left Tillman’s apartment that morning, she’d struggled to put one foot in front of the other.

Christ, what had possessed her? She must have drunk much more than she’d thought. She remembered drinking a last gin and tonic just as the bar was closing, but she’d thought she’d been well behaved during the rest of the evening. The night had flipped in an instant. Her main memories were throwing up in Tillman’s bathroom, Tillman showing a compassionate side she hadn’t experienced before, and the confrontation prior to that.

It was as if they were on borrowed time. Walker had yet to turn up for work, but when he did everything would change. Walker had refused to leave her alone, and when Tillman arrived he’d freaked out. He’d told Tillman to mind his own business, and had pushed him in the chest. Tillman had stopped the argument by punching him squarely in the eye. Walker had crashed to the ground, and scampered away like a beaten dog.

Walker had attacked Tillman, she’d been in a lucid enough state to have witnessed that, but it was their word against his. The officers she’d seen moments before had disappeared. Normally, that would be enough but as Walker left he’d snarled at them. ‘I know about you two,’ he’d said.

She looked through Blake’s file once more. For a supposed crime lord, he’d had very few run-ins with the police. In the last thirty years there had been a number of investigations but Blake had only the one entry on his record, a conviction for possession from over twenty years ago. Blake had been carrying five ounces of marijuana when he’d been questioned by an officer over another case. She printed the file and searched the rest of the records. She tried to concentrate but her thoughts kept returning to last night. The more she thought about it, the more contrived the events seemed. Tillman’s punch was justified to a certain extent, but there had been something about the way Walker had behaved which didn’t quite add up. Matilda closed her eyes, and tried to latch onto the faded memory. She couldn’t quite place it, but her feeling was that Walker had provoked Tillman on purpose. ‘He wanted Tillman to hit him,’ she whispered to herself.

Devlin appeared at her desk and handed her the report she’d printed up. ‘Cold case?’ he asked.

‘Something like that. You seen Walker today?’

‘No, haven’t left my desk all day. Still a bit rough.’

‘Aren’t we all. What are you working on?’

‘Still going through Sackville’s old case reports. Some fascinating stuff.’

‘That’s great, Devlin, but does any of it link with our investigation?’

Devlin sucked in his cheeks. It was an unnecessary criticism but she couldn’t take it back now.

‘I’ll get back to it then,’ he said.

Matilda read the file, but was still distracted by last night.

‘Kennedy, incident room.’ Matilda looked up to see Lambert hovering over the desk. She grabbed the file and followed him into the room, wondering if Walker had already spoken to him.

She was relieved to see Devlin and the rest of the team also in the room. Lambert sat and asked them to do the same. He always looked so fresh, as if he’d had a peaceful night’s rest. It was only his eyes which gave him away. They looked lost, haunted. She’d seen the look on countless officers over the years, but with Lambert it was something else. It wasn’t just the stress of the case. She occasionally caught him staring into space. It was as if sometimes he forgot himself, that part of him was missing.

Lambert asked for a report from each of them before making his revelation. ‘I asked for a report shortly after Moira Sackville’s murder and it has just come in. I was looking for similar MOs, such as the Whitfield report so helpfully reported to us by Charles Robinson. However, I focused specifically on the injuries to Moira Sackville. Namely, the vertical cuts to her wrists. One is quite interesting.’ Lambert clicked a switch and a case report appeared on the whiteboard at the end of the room.

The file was on a slideshow. Five pages in, and the picture of an elderly man appeared on the screen. Lambert paused the slideshow. Neil Lennox. A former DI with the Met. His body was discovered six months ago at his home in Gloucester.

He clicked a button. A picture of Lennox’s frail arm appeared on the screen. The tanned, liver spotted limb was drained of colour. Lambert clicked again and a picture of Lennox’s wrists appeared. Thick jagged welts zig-zagged across Lennox’s arm as if someone had hacked at his flesh. ‘He bled out, like the others. Was possibly alive for six hours. No murder weapon was found at the scene.’

‘Was there a witness?’ asked Matilda.

‘No, at least none were forthcoming. The body was found forty-eight hours later. He was found in bed. He wasn’t tied up. No sign of anyone witnessing the attack.’

‘What are you thinking, sir?’

‘I need to speak to the SIO on the case. But I think this man was possibly the first victim of the Watcher. Possibly his trial run.’

‘And he was the witness?’ said Kennedy.

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll drive. You still look rough,’ said Lambert, once they were outside.

Matilda was unable to argue. Lambert had made contact with the SIO on the Lennox case, and they’d agreed to meet at a service station on the M4, just outside Reading.

‘Did you manage to find any other images of Blake we can use to jog Dempsey’s memory?’ he asked, as he pulled away.

She told him about Blake’s case history. His one arrest for marijuana possession. ‘I don’t suppose Lennox was the arresting officer?’ he asked.

‘That would be nice, but no. A DS Garvey if memory serves.’

‘Can’t have it all, I suppose. So…’

Matilda tensed. It was turning into the worst hangover of her life, and she didn’t understand why. She was lethargic, and could feel the alcohol in her system. She hoped Lambert couldn’t smell it on her. She kept her focus ahead, the motion of the car making her nauseous.

‘I saw DS Walker this morning.’

Adrenaline flooded her system. She felt her breath in her throat. ‘Oh, yes?’ she said, after what felt like minutes.

‘Yes. He’s looking a bit worse for wear.’