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  ‘Do you recognize the photo?’ said Tanner.

  Lambert’s heart raced; he knew what was coming next. He understood the flashing beacons outside his house and the look of anger and distaste on the faces of the anti-corruption officers.

  Tanner’s face tensed, the anger palpable. ‘After they’d done that to his face, they poured the rest of the liquid down his throat. And guess what, DCI Lambert?’

  Lambert didn’t have to guess, for he was sure of what Tanner was going to say next.

  ‘Pinned to his chest we found this.’ Tanner threw the plastic sheath at him.

  Lambert didn’t have to look to know the envelope contained a plain white A6 card, with the name DCI Lambert sketched in capital letters on it.

  Silence descended. Lambert leant his forehead on the palm of his left hand and forced himself to look at the disfigured face of Inspector Duggan. Finally he sat back in his chair and looked at the two anti-corruption officers. ‘You don’t honestly think I have anything to do with this, do you?’

  ‘Put yourself in my shoes, Lambert. If you were investigating this case what would you think?’

  Lambert accepted the point. He understood he had to be questioned but didn’t agree with Tanner’s convoluted approach. ‘I never saw eye to eye with Duggan but I would never want him killed.’

  Tanner ignored him.

  ‘And if I did want him killed why the hell would I go about it in this manner? Why would I leave my name at the scene?’

  ‘You tell me, DCI Lambert, you’re the so-called serial killer expert. Why do all these freaks do what they do? Perhaps you were starved for attention – it’s been some time since the Manor case now. The press lost interest in you until Mr Beckinsale was murdered. Can you see the irony of that? Your name left at the scene and you become the investigator. It beats me how this was allowed to happen in the first place, but now we have three dead bodies and three little cards with your name on.’

  ‘When was the time of death?’ asked Lambert.

  Tanner’s mouth pursed as if something was lodged in his teeth and glanced at Whittaker.

  ‘We believe it happened sometime in the last thirty-six hours. The acid has done some horrible things to Duggan’s body.’

  Lambert imagined they had a more specific time for Duggan’s death but the timeframe coincided with his visit to Norfolk with Sarah May. When Tanner finally asked him, he said he’d been home at that time. He thought too about the car he’d seen when entering Croydon Road. At the time he’d thought Duggan had been following him but now this revelation suggested otherwise.

  ‘Were you not suspicious when Inspector Duggan didn’t turn up for work?’ asked Lambert.

  Tanner visibly angered. ‘Don’t try and tell me how to do my job, Lambert, when you’re obviously not succeeding at your own. This is how it is, you are suspended from duty and will conduct no further investigation into the murders of Alistair Beckinsale, Lance Jenkins and Inspector Duggan. You will give over your case notes and files to DS Whittaker and will cooperate fully when necessary.’

  Tanner terminated the interview and switched off the recorder. ‘If I were you, Lambert,’ he said, ‘I would get yourself a lawyer sooner rather than later.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The officers stopped what they were doing as Lambert left the interview room. Lambert didn’t recognize any of them, but it was disconcerting having them watch him exit. They would know at that precise moment he wasn’t a police officer and he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

  No one offered him a lift home so he left the building into the bright sunshine of early morning. He called Sophie and explained the situation. ‘I have somewhere to go, but I’ll be back early afternoon.’

  Hanging up, he noticed the familiar figure of Mia Helmer loitering by the bus stop. Having been spotted she walked towards him.

  ‘May I have a word, DCI Lambert?’

  Despite the early hour she was immaculately made-up, her painted face a mask from which she drew some confidence.

  ‘What can I do for you, Mia?’

  ‘I know about the third body and I know it’s one of your fellow officers.’

  Lambert hadn’t had time to fully process Inspector Duggan’s death. Although he’d disliked the man intensely, he’d worked with him in bringing down Jonathan Barnes and, despite working for anti-corruption, he’d been, as Mia suggested, a fellow officer.

  ‘It’s tragic news,’ said Lambert.

  ‘It certainly is,’ she said, not breaking character, her face blank. ‘Why are you here, speaking to anti-corruption?’ she asked.

  Lambert stared hard into the journalist’s eyes, searching for a sign of empathy or compassion. Finding none, he said, ‘As always, that’s none of your business.’ He began walking down the road towards Lewisham train station.

  ‘But Michael, it is my business. Your name was found at the scene again, wasn’t it? Didn’t you have a personal vendetta against Inspector Duggan? This can’t be good for your career. Why don’t you give me your version of events so I can provide my readers with both sides of the story?’

  ‘You never print my version of the events. You only print your version.’

  Mia’s rapid steps glided across the pavement behind him as she tried to keep pace. ‘All I know, Michael, is you’ve been suspended and you’re possibly under suspicion for a triple murder.’

  Lambert stopped and turned towards the journalist. ‘You print what you want but I’d be very careful you don’t impede an ongoing investigation.’

  ‘Did you have anything to do with Inspector Duggan’s death?’ she said, not flinching. He could see she was waiting for a comment she could turn to her own ends. He needed to avoid ambiguity.

  ‘Don’t be bloody stupid, Mia,’ he said, and walked away. He crossed the road at the traffic lights and headed into the shopping centre. He sped through the precinct, towards a shop he’d used many times before. Inside, he purchased four burner phones, paying cash.

  Once back outside, he checked he wasn’t being followed by Mia Helmer and resumed his journey to Lewisham station. He was under no illusions now the Manor was sending him a message. Few people would know of the attack on Jonathan Barnes, and that Lambert and Tillman had been accused of organizing it. Whoever killed Duggan must have known these two facts.

  Lambert hadn’t green-lighted any attack on Barnes, but couldn’t say the same for Tillman. His superior had contacts at all levels and it wasn’t beyond his ability or scruples for him to have staged such an attack. He’d never broached the subject with him. Responsible or not, Tillman would have denied it.

  Outside the station, he wasn’t surprised to see a car waiting for him. The passenger-side window was buzzed down and through the opening he saw Tillman’s bloated face.

  ‘Get in,’ said Tillman.

  Lambert sighed and did as ordered, Tillman buzzing the window closed and activating the interior central locking as if Lambert would try to escape. ‘Morning. I understand you’re in a spot of trouble.’

  ‘Yeah, you could say that, Glenn.’

  ‘Well, you’re not the only one. AC-10 have been onto me as well – they’ve been to my place but fortunately I wasn’t in. I had to switch my phone off because they keep leaving bloody messages. The sheer audacity of it is staggering.’

  ‘You know what’s happened though?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘Inspector Duggan,’ said Tillman. If anything Tillman’s relationship with Duggan had been worse than Lambert’s. He actively and openly despised the man. ‘Have you been suspended?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Jesus, I’ll have to go and speak to them, I suppose. What an almighty fuck-up.’

  Lambert took out the package and, making a note of the number, handed Tillman one of the burner phones.

  ‘We’re both fugitives now,’ he said.

  ‘Hardly,’ said Tillman, taking the phone. ‘They won’t be suspending me, I can guarantee that. I imagine they told yo
u to stay clear of the case?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And I imagine you have no intention of doing so?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Tillman frowned. ‘You know your ex has been taken off as well?’ said Tillman.

  Lambert sighed, annoyed by Tillman’s turn of phrase. ‘Do you mean DCI Sarah May?’

  ‘I do. Sticking her nose in places she shouldn’t. Remind you of anyone? Anyway, it’s completely MI5’s now, we’re getting no information. If you’ve got another one of those, I can pass it on to her,’ said Tillman.

  Lambert jotted down the number and handed a second phone to him.

  ‘What number should I call you on?’

  Lambert looked into the bag at the two remaining phones. ‘I’ll call you,’ he said.

  * * *

  There was some power in the burner phone so he called Matilda as he caught the train.

  ‘Who is this?’ she said, answering.

  ‘Matilda, it’s Lambert. Are you alone?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Have you heard?’

  ‘Yes, anti-corruption were waiting for us when we got in today, they’ve placed me in charge for the time being.’

  ‘Well, that’s a positive at least. Have you been to the crime scene?’

  ‘We were called in this morning when it happened, we were told explicitly not to call you or Glenn.’

  ‘Was he with you at the time?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘Yes,’ said Matilda, not elaborating.

  ‘OK, call me on this number and keep me updated, but don’t let on you’re in conversation with me. I’m sure Tillman already knows this but you two need to stay apart until this has all blown over. One more thing, I imagine you’re aware but we’re going to have to cancel the Christmas break.’

  ‘I understand, sir.’

  Lambert hung up and sat back in the chair. It was only a short train ride to his destination. He wanted to be at the office, wanted to know exactly what had happened at Duggan’s home but had to trust Matilda and the rest of the team for now.

  He left the train at Victoria and walked to the nearby shopping arcade where his final destination lay. From habit, he checked he wasn’t being watched. Annoyed by his own paranoia, he assured himself he wasn’t being followed by Mia Helmer or one of the anti-corruption team, before opening the door of a small boutique shop.

  A suited man greeted him. ‘Merry Christmas, sir, how may I be of assistance?’

  Lambert reached inside his pocket and took out a glossy piece of paper. ‘These earrings,’ he said. ‘Do you still have them?’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  DS Adams called as Sarah was running. She’d woken before the sun rose and set out in the darkness. She sometimes wished her runs could last forever. It was the only time she was ever truly at peace, her thoughts centred on her breathing and pacing; her only major concern where her foot would fall next. Adams’ name appeared on her phone screen but she wasn’t about to stop for him. She ran through Clifton Village and across the suspension bridge, recalling a potential suicide she’d managed to talk down from jumping years ago when she’d been a probationary officer.

  An hour later she returned to her parents’ house, elated from the exercise.

  ‘Fry-up?’ said her father, as she opened the front door to the smell of olive oil, bacon and coffee.

  ‘That would be heaven,’ said Sarah.

  After showering she called Adams. ‘I thought you were on leave,’ said the DS, with his usual overfamiliarity.

  ‘What have you got for me?’

  ‘The Land Rover belongs to a Brenda Rosenberg, some farm address out in the sticks. Ring any bells?’

  Sarah pictured the scene in St Albans, the woman crying and running away from Stuart Pierson. ‘No, it was nothing.’

  ‘OK. Ma’am, I was wondering…’

  ‘Yes, Adams, it’s not a problem. Take some time off,’ said Sarah, hanging up.

  She was becoming a slave to her changing emotions. One moment she was desperate to get back to London, the next she was relaxed after taking her run and eating a fried breakfast with her family.

  ‘It does defeat the purpose a bit though, doesn’t it?’ said her father, teasing her once more at the breakfast table.

  ‘What does?’ said her mother, falling for his line.

  ‘Going for such a long run, then eating all this rubbish.’

  ‘You cooked it, Jeff.’

  ‘He’s kidding, Mum,’ said Sarah, grabbing some extra bacon and sausage off the serving plate.

  * * *

  In the afternoon she accompanied her mother to the supermarket, her tension returning as soon as she entered the establishment. Half of Bristol appeared to have also left their shopping until the day before Christmas. Parents dragged screaming children around the corridors as customers fought for dwindling goods from the shelves.

  Sarah kept glancing at her phone despite knowing Michael would never call unless it was an emergency. She’d been away for less than twenty-four hours but was already desperate to get back.

  ‘Everything OK?’ asked her mother, when they were back in the car.

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘For one, you keep looking at your phone every ten minutes. So what’s happening with work? Why the sudden decision to come home?’

  ‘I can go back to London if you’d prefer,’ said Sarah, hearing the child in her voice. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that. I’ve been working on a tough case which ended prematurely. I’m just a bit frustrated with things at the moment. Sometimes I can’t wait to get away from all the bull… the politics and nonsense of the job.’

  ‘And then when you’re away, you can’t wait to get back.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘You’re like your dad.’

  ‘He was a surveyor.’

  ‘Yes, but he was addicted to work. You sure that’s all that’s bothering you? You look at your phone like you’re waiting to hear from someone specific.’

  Her mother was always annoyingly perceptive, but she wasn’t ready to talk about Michael yet. Both her parents had met him following their work together on the Souljacker case. They usually asked after him but had stopped since they’d split. Sarah tried to ignore the silence. Her mother was waiting for her to speak and Sarah was sure Michael’s name would be mentioned. ‘It’s fine, Mum. What have you got Dad for Christmas?’

  Her mother sighed, unsatisfied with the answer but knowing better than to push Sarah into a question she didn’t want to answer. ‘You know better than that. If you want to find that out, you’ll have to wait until Christmas morning.’

  Sarah turned towards her and received a wink.

  * * *

  Lambert paid for the earrings, shocked at his extravagance. The incidents of the previous night were beginning to take their toll. After stopping at a newsagent’s, he found a local café and acquired his fix of caffeine. From his bag he took out his new burner phone and charged it in one of the café’s sockets. He added the two numbers he had for Sarah, as well as Tillman and Matilda. His old burner phone would be compromised now so he removed the SIM card and battery, deciding he would leave it in the shop.

  The coffee was hot and bitter and Lambert blinked his eyes as tiredness surged through his body. His access to the System was revoked so he was at a loss to find out what was happening unless he called Matilda or Tillman. He didn’t want to call the former again in case it landed her in trouble, and wasn’t yet ready for a chat with his superior.

  He took out the notebook and pen he’d purchased from the newsagent’s and started to try and make sense of the situation he was in.

  First he considered the murder of Inspector Duggan. Duggan had been a foe for the last eighteen months but in the main he was a decent man. Working for anti-corruption was a poisoned chalice. Although having such a department was a necessary evil, the majority of police officers despised the division. It was human nature. The AC teams investigated
police officers, so the police officers hated them. But Duggan was still a police officer. His death was a travesty and would be mourned by the majority in and out of his department.

  Any doubt that the killer was recreating cases connected to Lambert was banished by the mode of Duggan’s demise. Duggan had been attacked in the same manner as Jonathan Barnes. The only difference this time was that Barnes had survived his attack while Duggan hadn’t. Was this a slip-up on the part of the attacker? Had he meant to keep him alive, a recreation of Jonathan Barnes, or was his death deliberate? He imagined Duggan had been alive when the killer left him in his room. Had the killer expected someone to come to Duggan’s rescue? He would have been in horrendous pain, and Lambert could only hope he’d slipped into unconsciousness.

  He remembered the sense of being followed as he returned to Beckenham. He’d seen a car, a black Audi, disappear down Beckenham High Street and thought it had been Duggan. Had the killer stolen Duggan’s car? Chief Superintendent Tanner hadn’t mentioned Duggan’s car being taken, but Lambert hadn’t asked the question.

  Lambert played with his personal mobile phone, deciding whether or not to call Tanner. The information would sound so circumstantial Tanner would see it as a desperate plea to get reinstated.

  He winced as he finished the dregs of the coffee. He didn’t care what Tanner thought of him. The most important thing was finding the killer. He picked up his phone and called AC chief.

  ‘Lambert?’ said Tanner, answering.

  ‘Sir. I had a question about Inspector Duggan.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I was wondering if his car was missing?’

  Tanner took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Why would you ask that, Lambert?’

  Lambert explained about Duggan tracking him and how he thought he’d seen Duggan’s car in Beckenham High Street the other evening.