Dead Lucky (28 page)

Blood thundered in her ears. ‘What warning was that?’

The man paused. ‘Just tell him I called.’

‘Tell me what the warning was,’ she said, desperate to keep the man on the phone.

‘Only him, Matilda. No one else must know. Oh, and Matilda, do ask him why he has been checking up on your daddy.’

Chapter 43

Charles Robinson’s flat was more modest than he’d expected. Situated in Hither Green, it was a part of a three storey new-build near the station. After leaving Kennedy at St Matthew’s, Lambert had called Robinson’s chambers and had arranged to meet the barrister at the flat. The man had sounded resigned on the phone, as if the fight with Sackville had taken all his energy.

Robinson greeted him at the door. He was casually dressed, in light cords and a pullover. His lack of business attire seemed to rob the man of his charisma. He looked smaller than Lambert remembered, his skin more wrinkled, his hair thin and dishevelled.

‘Lambert,’ said the man, by way of greeting, his rich Welsh tenor lacking its usual vibrancy. He extended his hand which Lambert shook, maintaining eye contact, trying not to fixate on the bruise spreading on the man’s face.

‘Mr Robinson, thank you for seeing me.’

‘Do I need my lawyer?’ said Robinson, laughing to himself as he retreated down the hallway to an open-plan living room.

The flat was deceptive. Robinson’s living room extended in both directions, broadening into the width of the building. Expensive looking oak floors spread across the expanse which was lined with immaculately arranged bookcases. ‘May I get you something to drink?’

‘No thank you. I won’t take up much of your time.’

‘Please sit,’ said Robinson, pointing to one of the sofas. An oil painting hung over a mock fireplace, an impressionist depiction of a ship in a storm. Everything in the room was pristine but cold. It reminded Lambert of the lobby of a five star hotel. ‘This is about Eustace?’

‘Partly.’

Robinson rubbed his eye. ‘I told that young officer, I didn’t want to press charges.’

‘No, that’s fine. I’ll leave that between you two. It was more to do with Moira.’

Robinson collapsed into the chair opposite. ‘Maybe I do need my lawyer.’

‘If you want to make this more formal, Mr Robinson, then that’s fine with me, but I don’t think it is necessary.’

Robinson hesitated. He crossed his arms, hugging his body. ‘Ask away.’

‘You told me that your relationship with Moira ended some time ago, but that wasn’t the case?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘That bruise on your face for one. Eustace knew it was still going on, didn’t he?’

‘Looks that way. You must think I’m some sort of monster, but Moira assured me that her physical relationship with Eustace was dead long before I came along. Moira was looking for something that he couldn’t provide. I understand why he wanted to do this to me,’ said Robinson, rubbing his eye again. ‘Naturally he’s devastated at what happened to his wife and I’m a reasonable target, I accept that.’

‘You lied to us, Charles.’

Robinson rubbed his chin, nodding. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. I panicked and I apologise.’

‘So you were still in a relationship with Moira?’

‘Of sorts.’

‘Of sorts?’

‘It was purely a physical thing. No romantic mini breaks or the like. We only saw each other one or two times a month, normally at her suggestion.’

‘And Moira was a willing partner in this?’ asked Lambert, sitting upright and leaning towards Robinson.

Robinson straightened. ‘What do you mean, willing partner?’

‘I don’t want to pry, Charles, but from what I understand things with you and Moira were a bit more adventurous then the relationship Moira had with her husband.’

Robinson smiled, as if privy to some private joke. ‘Yes, things were “adventurous” as you put it. Moira and Eustace didn’t have a sex life, so anything would be adventurous in comparison.’ Robinson sighed, his breath catching. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Moira loved Eustace. She didn’t love me.’

‘Charles, I have to ask you, and this is important. Did Moira end things with you before her death?’

Robinson looked confused. ‘You have a way about you, Lambert, I’ll give you that. No, we’d planned to meet later this week. Today in fact. I was supposed to meet…’

‘Go on,’ said Lambert.

‘Nothing, we were supposed to meet.’

Lambert considered ending the meeting. He wanted the next part of the conversation recorded, but needing answers now he pressed on. ‘You were seen loitering outside Moira’s library, Charles. We have an independent witness. You used to wear a hoodie.’

Robinson stood up and began laughing. He walked over to a side cabinet and helped himself to a glass of brandy. ‘Join me?’

Lambert shook his head.

‘Role play, Mr Lambert. Moira took to it splendidly.’

‘Role play?’

‘It was her idea. She wanted me to stalk her.’

‘Come on, Charles.’

Robinson gulped his brandy in one. ‘I swear. She knew I was there. I used to follow her home when Eustace was out. I had to stop at the library when Moira thought one of her colleagues was becoming suspicious.’

‘You have any way of verifying this?’

Robinson poured a second brandy. ‘Of course not.’

Lambert rubbed his forehead. ‘Okay, Charles. So you would follow her home. Then what?’

‘She had a key cut for me. I would be waiting in the flat for her.’ He started rummaging through some of the drawers. ‘Here,’ he said, throwing over a set of keys.

Lambert caught the set of keys. ‘You know how this looks, Charles?’

Robinson finished his second drink. He looked like a man defeated. ‘Why do you think I panicked?’

‘Why didn’t you tell us about the keys, Charles?’

‘My mistake. I was in shock, and I wasn’t thinking straight.’

‘Anything else I should know at this point?’

Robinson lowered his eyes. ‘She used to make me wear a mask.’

‘Probably time for that lawyer,’ said Lambert.

Robinson shrugged. ‘I’ll call him now. Can you take me in, avoid the fuss?’

‘Save me some time, are we going to find anything incriminating here?’

Robinson straightened, thrusting out his chest. For a moment he looked the confident, unflappable barrister they’d met at his chambers. ‘Of course not. I didn’t kill Moira, if that is what you’re suggesting. We were lovers. We were friends. I imagine what you find will be incriminating, for my career at least. I will miss her. Retirement looms.’ he said, rolling out the last word as he emphasised his Welsh accent.

‘We’ll be as discreet as possible,’ said Lambert.

Chapter 44

Kennedy had set up a second incident room at the station. Photos of children lined the walls of the new room, occasionally matched by their adult counterparts. Lambert began reading the names on the sheets. Joss Balfour, currently a school teacher in Northumbria. Mark Fran, deceased, died age twenty-one, suicide. Meredith Wyatt, deceased, died age twenty-eight, suicide. Linda Farrell, reported missing fifteen years ago. Rolf Fleming, unemployed, Newport, Gwent.

‘We’ve teams tracking down every one of them. Obviously, we don’t know what we’re looking for. We’ve started to separate them into years of residence,’ said Kennedy, not making eye contact.

Lambert updated her on Charles Robinson. ‘We’ve got a team searching his house at the moment. We’ll question him later. Next, we need Laura Dempsey down here. I want her to go through the list.’

Kennedy sighed. ‘Not going to happen, sir. I spoke to Dr Hughes. Dempsey is under heavy sedation and will be under psychiatric care for the next week or so minimum.’

Lambert rubbed his face. ‘What happened here? What was Dempsey involved in?’

‘Devlin has searched for any cold cases but nothing appears about the home. Nothing official.’

‘Nothing at all? Dempsey said Lennox visited.’

‘Well, he either didn’t report it or the file is lost.’

He would have to speak to Dempsey again, whatever Dr Hughes’ protestations.

‘What are you hoping we find, sir?’

Something in Kennedy’s tone suggested she was off with him. ‘I’m not sure yet. We could be looking for the first victim,’ he said, but what he was really thinking was that they could be looking for the killer.

‘I’ll get on with it, sir.’

Lambert allowed her to walk away to begin with. She’d been calling him, ‘Sir,’ ever since he’d returned to the station and it had been said out of duty rather than reverence. He stopped her as she was halfway across the incident room. ‘My office, Kennedy, fifteen minutes.’

Kennedy stopped to listen to the instructions, not turning to face him, and moved away without responding.

Lambert took a box of files from the desk, took them to his office and began looking through the former occupants of St Matthew’s. All his thoughts were focused on Blake. Blake had been running some form of prostitution ring out of the home, and had been concerned enough to have tortured Sackville to ensure his silence. Dempsey had worked there. And now years later, the officer who had been sent in to investigate the allegation was also found dead. What Lambert needed now was some form of feasible motive. Motive would make the investigation easier, but could there ever really be a true motive in such cases? If it was Blake, then did he really need a motive to kill Sackville’s wife, and Dempsey’s wife and children? The scars on Sackville’s back suggested Blake was a sadist of the highest level. It was conceivable he’d been committing such crimes off radar for the last thirty years and had simply started making mistakes.

Lambert retrieved a file from the box. The sullen face of a fifteen-year-old boy, Sean Keir, stared back at him. Keir had been put in care aged three following the death of his mother to liver disease. The boy would be five years older than Lambert was now. Lambert knew finding out what went on in that home, and how Dempsey and Sackville were linked to it, would give him his answers. He would find that information even if it meant locating every former resident of the wretched place.

A knock on the door distracted him. Kennedy walked in, uninvited. ‘You wanted to speak to me?’

Lambert placed the file back in the box. ‘Take a seat.’

Kennedy couldn’t quite pull off the sulky look. She sat with arms folded, petulant like a teenager in front of the headmaster.

‘Shall we sort whatever the hell is going on?’ said Lambert.

‘You tell me.’

Lambert took a deep breath. ‘You have me at a complete loss here, Matilda. Have I done something to piss you off?’

Kennedy held his gaze in a way he’d never seen her do before. It was as if she was assessing him, searching for a sign of untruth. Lambert wondered if it had something to do with Tillman, or Walker. Eventually she relented. ‘Why don’t you ask my dad?’

Lambert shook his head. ‘Fucking Tillman,’ he said, under his breath.

‘What’s Tillman got to do with this?’

It was Lambert’s turn to stop, to assess Kennedy. ‘Right, Kennedy, stop pissing me about and tell me what you have been told and by whom.’

‘I should go to Tillman.’

‘What do you know, Kennedy?’ said Lambert, raising his voice.

She hesitated, going through some internal struggle within her. ‘I know he’s called you,’ she said.

‘Who?’ said Lambert, beginning to understand.

Kennedy pulled at the bunch of red hair by her shoulder. ‘The Watcher.’

Chapter 45

They sat in an uneasy silence, exchanging the occasional look, each waiting for the other to speak.

‘When did he call you?’ asked Lambert.

‘Earlier today. How long have you been talking to him?’

‘He called me shortly after Moira Sackville’s death.’

‘Why didn’t you share the information? I should report you,’ she said, eyes full of accusation.

Lambert relaxed his pose. He was confident he’d made the right choice. ‘He made direct threats against Sophie and the family, which did concern me. But primarily, I feared that if I revealed details of our conversation then I would lose all contact with him going forward. He had an impressive amount of knowledge.’

Kennedy recoiled, shaking her head. Lambert wondered what Tillman had told her. Whatever he had said, she seemed to have come to him first.

‘You think that excuse would help you if Tillman found out?’

It didn’t sound like a threat but Lambert knew the potential was there in Kennedy’s voice.

‘I did what I thought was best, Kennedy. It wasn’t personal.’

‘Sounds like it was exactly that,’ said Kennedy. ‘It looks to me as if you hampered the whole investigation because of your selfishness.’

Lambert took a deep breath. It was possible she was right. It was unlikely he would have been so forgiving if the roles had been reversed. At the moment he still had indirect access to the killer, and in the end that would prove the man’s undoing. ‘Given that he has contacted you directly, he has effectively given me permission to discuss all our conversations with you. He is getting arrogant, and that will help us to catch him. If you want to take it further be my guest, but consider the implications.’

Kennedy bit her bottom lip, her gaze never leaving Lambert’s. ‘Have you been looking into my father?’

‘Let’s start from the beginning,’ said Lambert. He told her of every conversation with the killer from the first unknown call on his phone to the last call suggesting the killer had broken into Sophie’s house.

Kennedy stretched her back. ‘He’s been watching us?’ she said, sounding more impressed than anything.

‘It looks that way.’

‘Okay. First things first, I want to know what my father has to do with this.’

‘I’m not sure it is anything. I’ve read your father’s file. The killer hinted at nepotism, but I don’t buy that, I know you are a very strong police officer. Is there anything you need to tell me?’

Kennedy looked up, caught in thought. ‘It’s a distraction tactic, has to be.’

Lambert agreed but wanted more confirmation. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Well, he’s got us talking about it. He’s had me worried I couldn’t trust you, and you worried you couldn’t trust me. It is divisive and distracting. It has diverted us both from where our attention should be focused.’