Dead Time Read online

  ‘What time was this?’ asked Tanner.

  ‘10.32 p.m.’

  ‘That’s exact.’

  ‘I logged the time when I saw the car. Unfortunately I was distracted before I had time to confirm the number plates.’

  ‘That is unfortunate,’ said Tanner, deadpan.

  ‘Was Duggan’s car taken?’

  Tanner didn’t respond, which was response enough.

  ‘I take it his car doesn’t have a tracker.’

  ‘Unfortunately not. We’ll look into the CCTV for that time. Why didn’t you volunteer this information earlier?’

  ‘It just occurred to me. Did you know Duggan was following me?’

  ‘I appreciate you calling, Lambert. Is there anything else I should know?’ Tanner wasn’t about to divulge any information to him.

  ‘You’ll let me know if you track the car?’

  ‘No. Goodbye, Lambert.’

  Lambert glared at his phone, and considered slamming it numerous times on the café’s table. Tanner had purposely not used his rank when addressing him, a subtle reminder he was suspended, was technically no longer a police officer.

  He called Matilda and told her about Duggan’s car.

  ‘Tanner was here an hour ago, sir. He told us the car was missing.’

  ‘OK, now they have a lead to where the car was last seen. AC-10 will be checking the CCTV image for the high street and surrounding areas. Obviously you didn’t hear it from me, but you should try and find out that information as soon as you are able. You find the car, you may find the killer.’

  Lambert hung up and called Sophie as he waited for his taxi to arrive.

  ‘Can you pick up some extra sprouts?’ she said, after he explained he was on his way back.

  Lambert laughed and Sophie asked him what was so funny. ‘Nothing, it’s just good to know what my priorities are.’

  * * *

  Jane was still too young to fully understand what was happening but it was a joy to watch her as she busied herself around the house: hanging up Christmas stockings on the fireplace and preparing treats for Father Christmas and his reindeer.

  ‘Are you sure you’ve been a good girl this year?’ said Lambert, furrowing his brow.

  Jane frowned and gave him a threatening look. ‘Daddy,’ she warned.

  ‘Just checking,’ said Lambert, holding his hands up in defence.

  Jane rolled her eyes.

  ‘Right, get here you,’ said Lambert, jumping from his seat towards the girl who ran screaming through the hallway, giggling as she went.

  ‘That will help her sleep,’ said Sophie, pushing herself against the wall as Jane rushed past.

  ‘It’s Christmas,’ said Lambert, giving chase.

  Later, they watched a short animated film together, the three of them cuddled together on the sofa as Sophie’s mother prepared some dinner.

  ‘Santa,’ said Jane, eyes wide as an animated Father Christmas appeared on screen.

  ‘Better get off to bed, then, or he might miss you,’ said Lambert.

  ‘Daddy, it’s not time yet.’

  ‘Soon will be though, pumpkin. Five more minutes, OK?’ said Sophie.

  Jane smiled and snuggled into her parents.

  It was at least twenty minutes later before they left the sofa. Jane was doing her utmost to stay awake as Lambert carried her upstairs and placed her in bed. ‘Is Santa here?’ she asked, as he kissed her goodnight.

  ‘Soon, darling, go to sleep. Lambert turned around to see Sophie, video camera in hand, recording the moment. ‘Hey, I haven’t brushed my hair.’ He took the camera off Sophie as she kissed Jane goodnight. ‘That reminds me, I need to go and do something.’

  Upstairs, he wrapped the earrings he’d brought Sophie and the other presents he’d managed to buy earlier that day. Unable to resist, he attempted logging onto the System only to be denied access. He ran some Google searches on Peter Saunders, and even resorted to searching his own name. Mia Helmer hadn’t yet covered any of the latest developments on his case. She was either waiting for the Christmas period to be over to create greater impact, or wanted to see the fallout from Duggan’s death.

  It was beyond frustrating being out of the loop and it gave him an insight to what life would be like without the job. There was nothing else he could do on Christmas Eve. He picked up the pile of poorly wrapped presents and headed downstairs.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lambert kissed Jane goodbye as he placed her in the child seat. ‘I’ll see you later on,’ he said clicking it into place. ‘And you, Glenda,’ he said, to Sophie’s mother who sat in the front seat.

  It was the twenty-seventh December. The Christmas period had gone better than Lambert anticipated. Sophie had been surprised and delighted by his choice of present, and the time had been relaxed in part because Lambert had been unable to attend work.

  He hadn’t told them about his suspension. He’d explained away the sirens and police cars by saying they’d needed his urgent help but couldn’t tell if Sophie believed him.

  He waved them goodbye as Sophie drove her mother back home, happy to have some time to himself. Since his questioning by anti-corruption, he’d come as close as he ever had to taking his mind off an active case. He’d exchanged messages with Tillman on the burner phone, and listened to Matilda Kennedy’s updates, but had taken no further part in the investigation. Now, left alone, it would be harder not to get involved.

  He took a walk in the park at the end of his street, watching the families with their young children, playing with the new bikes and scooters they’d received for Christmas. The friendly community spirit was the main positive about the area. Matilda’s investigation into Duggan’s death had not progressed well. That his body had been found on the day before Christmas Eve did little to help matters, but neither had AC-10’s continuous involvement. Matilda had been questioned on her working relationship with Lambert and Tillman; Lambert concluding they were putting a case together against him.

  Despite his best attempts he was still frozen out of the System. He’d requested a secret access code from Tillman, who was yet to grant it and was not answering his calls.

  Lambert didn’t know what to do with his time. In the high street, he bought a newspaper and took it to one of the local coffee shops. He sat by the large bay window watching the pedestrians still caught up in their seasonal good cheer. He checked through the sports section first, a habit he’d formed as a child. The passion he’d felt then for reading football scores and reports was absent now. Flipping the paper over he skimmed from the front and stopped short on page six when he saw his own face looking back out at him.

  Lambert folded the paper, scanning the room, the customers with their coffees and marshmallow-topped hot chocolates, for potential threats and returned to the article written by Mia Helmer. It was buried away from the rest of the news, a quarter-page article with the headline ‘Hero Cop Under Suspicion’.

  Lambert cursed under his breath. It appeared Helmer was close to getting what she wanted. With his suspension and the growing list of bodies connected to him, his career and reputation were being destroyed.

  He’d made lots of enemies over the years, Mia Helmer being a prime example, but all his thoughts were still directed to the Manor. He read the article three times before closing the paper, the other customers glancing his way at his evident anger. He took the burner phone from his pocket and held it in his hand. His first thought was to call Sarah. In many ways she was in the same situation as him, and was so because of him. They could help each other but it would be difficult. He had no access to the System and he wasn’t even supposed to be talking to Matilda and Tillman. Similar restrictions had been placed on Sarah. He juggled the phone from hand to hand and considered his options before finishing his coffee.

  On the way home he stopped at the supermarket. Even this small act filled him with guilt. How could he bother about what he was going to eat when some two-bit journalist with a grudge was
out there trashing his name? He should be investigating, finding out who was responsible for Beckinsale, Jenkins and Duggan, not wasting his time in the bakery aisle choosing which bread he wanted for his lunch.

  He walked back through the park, noticing a customer from the supermarket was trailing him from thirty metres away. Lambert had first spotted him in the coffee shop and thought his appearance in the supermarket a coincidence but was now on alert. Lambert slowed his pace, forcing his pursuer to shorten the distance between them. As he reached the playground he stopped and leant on the metal railings. Pretending to use his phone, he turned to face the approaching man. His pursuer hesitated, the slight movement enough to confirm Lambert was right to have been suspicious. The pursuer looked at him, realizing he’d been caught, and began walking over. Lambert put the phone back in his inside pockets and tensed. As always, he was prepared. He reached inside his pocket, his right hand touching his canister of pepper spray.

  The figure stopped ten metres away. ‘DCI Lambert,’ he said.

  Lambert kept his hand where it was. He didn’t recognize the man and thought by his gait and the easy way he’d been caught out that he was another journalist feeding off Mia Helmer’s story.

  ‘What do you want?’

  He took a few steps forward. ‘Sir, I have a message for you from Glenn Tillman.’

  Lambert was surprised at how easy he’d caught out one of Tillman’s men. ‘Why hasn’t he phoned me?’

  ‘He says he wants no record, even on the burner phone.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  The man took another step forward, scanning the area for eavesdroppers.

  ‘It’s Jonathan Barnes, sir. There are plans to transfer him from his current prison on the twenty-ninth December.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sarah must have run close to a hundred miles since returning to Bristol. She’d managed twelve miles on Christmas Day between opening presents and lunch. It was like an addiction, and she was pushing herself harder today, aiming for close to twenty. She ran along the Portway, her tempo fast but evenly paced, the smell of the muddy river in her nostrils.

  It was only the twenty-seventh December, but already she ached to be back at work, her feeling compounded by her frustration at being taken off the Saunders’ case. She hadn’t heard from Michael, though a burner phone had arrived at her house via courier delivery late on Christmas Eve. Michael’s boss, Tillman, called her on the phone and explained Michael was suspended following the suspicious death of Inspector Duggan from anti-corruption. She’d wanted to phone him but he would be home with his family and she couldn’t intrude.

  Although she was less than two hours from London, she may as well have been in another world. She had no access to the file on Saunders, and Partridge wasn’t going to volunteer any information. Part of her wanted to put it behind her, to find another case or even department within the NCA, but until there was some resolution she wouldn’t be able to rest.

  There was no fried breakfast waiting for her when she returned home. Her parents were visiting relatives, the house desolate without their busy presence. After showering, Sarah took out her case and began packing the few clothes she’d brought from London. She’d enjoyed visiting her parents but was going stir-crazy from the predictable routine.

  She checked the train times while eating lunch and flicked through her parents’ newspaper, stopping when she reached the article on Michael. Even though she was biased, the journalist appeared to have done a hatchet job on him. Nothing in the article had any substance. It was true Lambert was suspended, but Helmer painted a picture of a corrupt officer. She was too clever to be explicit but the subtext was clear: Michael was under suspicion for the murder of Inspector Duggan and the other two victims.

  She held the phone in her hand. Even if she called him, he wouldn’t talk about it. Instead, she checked the train times to London and was about to call a taxi when her phone rang.

  * * *

  Lambert waited for Tillman’s messenger to leave the park before returning home. He took the long route, alert to the possibility of attack. At home he tried Tillman’s burner which was either switched off or dumped. Pacing the house, he read the note the messenger had given him once more, memorizing the address before tearing the paper into little pieces.

  He’d told Sophie he’d make dinner but needed to prepare. He sent her a text, apologizing for having to go to work and retreated to his office at the top of the house. From the safe he retrieved two sets of keys.

  He made a sandwich, watching the clock as he ate. He was still worried that Tillman had gone silent. He wanted to meet at 6.30 p.m. Lambert checked the address on his laptop, not surprised to see the rendezvous was in a side street half a mile from Woolwich prison. He accessed an aerial view on the web, the street surrounded by the backs of towering office buildings. Lambert scanned the road and determined the exact spot where Tillman would wait for him: the dead zone where they wouldn’t be viewed.

  That Barnes was being moved wasn’t in itself a great surprise. Prison transfers were a matter of routine, the reasons for them numerous. What troubled Lambert, and presumably Tillman, was the timing of the move so soon after Saunders’ escape and the fact that Barnes was headed to Luton, the same prison where Saunders had been heading when he’d escaped. As the exact details of Saunders’ escape were still being kept secret by MI5, the proposed transfer wouldn’t have raised many concerns. Lambert found it inconceivable the security services would allow a second prison escape. If Barnes was to be moved, he was sure security would be at its maximum.

  Then why was he so troubled by the thought of Barnes being transferred?

  He was drawn back to Waverley Manor, the quiet of the underground dungeons, the fact a senior police officer – Barnes – had been partly responsible for the atrocities. He couldn’t let him get free. It was hard enough to stomach Saunders’ escape, but suspended or not he would not allow Barnes to follow in his colleague’s footsteps.

  With Tillman not answering, he called Sarah, hoping Tillman had got the burner phone to her. She answered after one ring as if she’d been holding the phone in her hand.

  He hesitated, not sure where to begin. ‘Jonathan Barnes is moving prisons,’ he said, the first of many thoughts in his head demanding to be voiced.

  ‘I see. When?’

  ‘The twenty-ninth, and he’s being moved to Luton.’

  ‘I guess they have a spare room there now,’ said Sarah with a laugh.

  ‘My concern is it will stay vacant.’

  ‘You don’t think they will try to spring Barnes as well? They could never get away with that.’

  ‘Something is happening, Sarah.’ He explained about his meeting with Tillman that evening.

  ‘You want some assistance?’ she asked, taking her cue from his voice.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m going mad here. I haven’t put so many miles on the road in a long time. Anything to get out of the house. What time are you meeting Tillman?’

  ‘6.30.’

  ‘I should be able to get back to London in time. Send me the address and I’ll meet you beforehand.’

  Michael was relieved he hadn’t had to ask. He went silent, conflicting thoughts in his head.

  Sarah rescued him. ‘Tillman told me what happened. About your suspension.’

  ‘Did he now? Yeah, I guess I’m operating without a licence here. It’s all nonsense, of course, but I understand if you don’t want to get involved.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. I’ll call you when I arrive.’

  Lambert hung up, thankful Sarah still wanted to help him. Although he trusted Tillman, it would be good to have a second set of eyes to help him. He left the house and made the short journey to a lock-up he used in Orpington.

  He reversed the car up a gravel driveway and parked facing the roadside so he would be able to get away quickly. He was always careful, but recent events had created a burgeoning paranoia. He used the lock-up due
to the lack of surveillance and was pleased there was no one around. Checking about him, he opened first the chain guard then the metal door securing the area. The space within was similar to a car garage. Lambert had filled it with random pieces of junk, an old table and chairs, a beaten sofa, and cardboard boxes full of books. At the back of the room he shifted a panel in the floor, revealing the digital controls of the floor safe he’d spent a long weekend installing many years ago. From the safe he took his burn bag containing cash, photo identification including a passport, and finally his Glock 22 handgun. Although he was licensed to carry a firearm, such a privilege was subject to heavy scrutiny and did not extend to the use of private guns. He risked jail if discovered, but in the circumstances it was a risk worth taking.

  He placed the gun in the leather holdall strapped to his chest and replaced the safe covering. Thankful he was still alone, he locked up before heading to his destination, wanting to arrive before Tillman.

  Three hours early, Lambert stopped for a late lunch at a nondescript sandwich shop near the town centre. He ordered a baguette: the bread soft and chewy, the sandwich’s fillings flavourless. Restless, he searched through his notes on his laptop, hoping for inspiration. He thought about the body he’d found with Sarah in Norfolk. Had the prison guard, John Prine, been helping Saunders under duress or had he been one of the Manor, betrayed at the last by the organization he trusted? One thing he could not accuse the Manor of was a lack of loyalty. Of the eight men they’d arrested, only Barnes had broken his silence. Convicted mainly through forensic evidence, each of the men had remained silent about the organization itself.

  Not that there was anything admirable about such silence. The reasons for it were deep rooted. Each man had family, and Lambert was of the opinion each feared retribution for talking. It was this forced loyalty which made it so difficult to investigate the organization. As a group, Lambert was convinced there were much more than the eight imprisoned men. The Saunders’ breakout was proof enough. He estimated the organization numbered into the hundreds. The code of silence adopted by the eight appeared to be ruthlessly enforced by the rest of the members. For such a code to work the members would have to trust one another implicitly. Lambert had seen such loyalty before in organized crime and paedophile groups. It made him conclude on balance that John Prine hadn’t been one of their number. That Saunders would not have eliminated a fellow member in such a manner.