Dead Time Read online

  That didn’t mean Prine didn’t work for them. He’d seen from his investigation into Waverly Manor that they were not beyond using, and eliminating, hired help.

  Lambert rubbed his face, not sure if his conclusion helped him in any way. With Prine dead, was there another guard on the payroll who would help Barnes escape, or did it go higher? Was Saunders simply the first escapee? Did the Manor somehow have the audacity to believe they could spring all eight from jail?

  Lambert shuddered, swearing to himself no more of their number would see the light of day again.

  Sarah called. She was already in London. Lambert agreed to meet her in twenty minutes. The clouded sky was pregnant with rain and he feared a deluge as he made his way to the tube station where he’d agreed to meet Sarah. He scanned the crowds, suspicious of everyone who looked his way, his gun heavy inside his knee-length overcoat. Everyone was a potential threat. Anti-corruption were investigating him and were probably attempting to track him even now; everyone he passed could be one of their team.

  A scrawny youth, the damp remains of an extinguished cigarette hanging from his mouth like a growth, stood next to Sarah outside the train station. The youth was speaking to her and stopped mid-sentence when Lambert arrived.

  ‘All right, mate?’ said the youth.

  Lambert ignored him, his attention focused on Sarah. ‘Nice hat,’ he said, nodding to the flower-patterned beanie hat covering her dark hair.

  She smiled and Lambert laughed as the youth tried unsuccessfully to light his limp cigarette.

  Lambert led her back to the car where they deposited her luggage and then to the rendezvous point where Lambert was supposed to meet Tillman in two hours. As the online map suggested, office buildings flanked the meeting place. Only now could Lambert see they were derelict. The entrances were boarded up, many of the windows smashed. Five cars lined the road, each with a yellow permit sticker on the windshield.

  Together they searched for a vantage point where Sarah could wait undetected. ‘Are you in contact with Tillman?’ Lambert asked her.

  ‘I haven’t spoken to him since he told me about Duggan. I don’t have a direct number for him.’

  ‘When was the last time you spoke to the MI5 team?’

  ‘Not since they took me off the case. It was made pretty clear there would be no more contact. I have no idea how the Saunders’ case is progressing.’

  ‘Through here,’ said Lambert, jamming open one of the office building’s doors. What appeared to be a year’s worth of post covered the musty-smelling foyer like a second carpet. ‘Who’s the agent in charge again?’ he said, surprised to see the doors to the staircase were open.

  ‘Charles Partridge. I don’t think they ever wanted our involvement. I was assigned to the case almost as an afterthought. I could tell from the outset Partridge didn’t want me on board. They sidelined me at every opportunity, even when I took them to John Prine’s body.’

  They moved up the concrete staircase, their footsteps echoing in the cavern of the stairwell. ‘You ever get the impression they weren’t surprised to see Prine’s grave?’ asked Lambert, breathless as they reached the tenth flight.

  ‘Hard to tell. As you’d expect, they’re professional to a fault. Sharing information was not in their mandate. If anything, I felt under suspicion when they arrived.’

  ‘Did they have any inkling I’d been there?’

  ‘Your name wasn’t mentioned but Partridge didn’t fully believe my account of events.’

  Sarah pushed open the swing doors to a large vacant space, what must once have been an open-plan office. Abandoned furniture, coated in dust, lay strewn on the damp carpet. The same musty smell they’d noticed in the stairwell filling the stale air. Lambert picked up one of the plastic telephones and held it to his ear, hearing nothing but static. ‘Over here,’ he said, moving towards the windows at the other end of the office. He pulled at the blinds, his fingers coated in a moist grey substance he wiped on the wall.

  ‘Good spot,’ said Sarah, gazing down at the road where Lambert had agreed to meet Tillman. ‘You think this is necessary?’

  ‘I hope not, but you never know with Tillman. He’s loyal but unpredictable.’ He handed her his car keys and a plastic fob with a code inscribed on it. ‘I’ve got a tracker on my phone. If Tillman pulls away, or something else happens, use my car to follow.’

  Sarah opened the tracking app on her phone and entered the code on the fob. ‘Best of luck,’ she said, taking her spot by the window as Lambert exited.

  It was dusk by the time Lambert left the building. He edged along the street towards the meeting spot, making sure he was in Sarah’s eyeline. He was probably being over anxious but, as he’d told Sarah, Tillman could be unpredictable. He was no longer using his burner phone and had sent a messenger to summon him, so Lambert surmised Tillman’s paranoia matched his own.

  Lambert pushed himself back against a brick wall, merging into the shadows as a woman entered the alleyway. A high-pitched whistle reverberated around the surrounding walls as lights on one of the parked cars flashed twice, the woman opening the doors and driving off. Lambert looked up at the office building but couldn’t see any sign of Sarah.

  ‘Waiting for someone?’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Tillman, where did you come from?’

  Glenn Tillman was standing behind him wrapped in a heavy knee-length coat and, for the first time Lambert could ever recall, wearing a hat. ‘You’re getting sloppy, Lambert. You fell for my decoy like an amateur.’

  Lambert was pleased the man was in good humour. ‘Bullshit. She wasn’t a decoy, that was blind luck.’

  ‘Believe what you will. This way,’ said Tillman, heading back into the main street.

  ‘Where are we going?’ said Lambert, glancing up as Tillman turned his back.

  ‘We’re getting picked up on the main street in five minutes,’ said Tillman. He paused before adding, ‘She can’t come with us, but feel free to tell DCI May she can follow.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Lambert sent Sarah a text from the back of Tillman’s car. She had the tracking device activated so would be able to follow with little trouble. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve arranged for us to visit an old friend.’

  Twenty minutes later, the car pulled into the staff entrance of Woolwich prison. ‘Barnes?’ said Lambert.

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘You realize I’m on suspension. I can’t be seen visiting a convict.’

  ‘No need to worry about that. It’s not an official visit.’

  The car stopped in front of a wire-meshed gate which began to open. Through the windshield Lambert saw a lone guard standing in a doorway, light shining behind him like a halo.

  ‘Best if you don’t give your name. Davies, turn this car around and keep the engine running in case,’ said Tillman. ‘You carrying?’ he asked Lambert.

  Lambert nodded and gave him his gun.

  The haloed prison guard greeted them. ‘Glenn,’ he said, ignoring Lambert. ‘This is the last time,’ he added, as he shut the door.

  ‘Understood,’ said Tillman, as they followed the guard through the bunker-like corridor running beneath the prison. The guard stopped by a cast-iron door which he unlocked with an oversized rusted key.

  ‘I can give you fifteen minutes, max,’ he said, ushering them through.

  Inside the room, chained to a fixed metal desk, sat Jonathan Barnes.

  Lambert shivered as the door locked behind him. Barnes shuffled in his chair, the chains rattling in the hollow confines of the room.

  ‘Great to see you again, Jonathan,’ said Tillman, dragging one of the two metal chairs opposite the prisoner.

  Even in the poor light, Lambert could see the injuries to Barnes’ face were horrific.

  ‘What do you want?’ said Barnes. The words were slurred, almost incomprehensible. He appeared to be in pain as he spoke.

  ‘I heard you’re getting out of here,’
said Tillman.

  ‘So?’

  Tillman leant forward and Barnes shrank into his seat. ‘So, I was wondering how that was arranged.’

  Lambert reminded himself of Barnes’ crimes as he experienced a stab of sympathy for him. The man before them had been responsible for the abuse and deaths of tens if not hundreds of children. Some of those poor souls had never seen the light of day, had been confined to a life beneath the ground at Waverley Manor. Directly or indirectly, Barnes had been involved. His suffering, in comparison, was irrelevant.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Barnes, shrugging. Lambert sensed the fear and confusion in his slurred voice. If someone was masterminding his escape, it wasn’t the remains of the man before them.

  ‘You know about Saunders?’ said Tillman.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who organized his escape?’

  ‘How the hell should I know?’

  ‘I know you have your means of communication, Barnes.’

  Lambert reminded himself again of Barnes’ crimes as Tillman leant in closer and started putting pressure on the cuffs securing Barnes in place.

  ‘This is not an official visit, Jonathan, and I’m not DCI May. What do you know, Jonathan?’ whispered Tillman.

  It was hard to imagine Barnes had once been a DCI like Lambert. He shook as Tillman continued bombarding him with questions and Lambert was concerned the man would pass out before giving them any credible information.

  Sharing his concern, Tillman released the pressure on the prisoner. He sat back on his chair, the metal legs scraping across the stone floor.

  Barnes took the opportunity to glance at Lambert, a hint of a smile forming on his lips. ‘Wipe that off,’ said Lambert, realizing it was the first time he’d spoken since entering the room.

  Barnes lowered his good eye but Lambert could still see the amusement there.

  Tillman used the break in conversation to speak, his tone gentler than before. ‘If you think you have a chance of escaping during your prison transfer then you’re sorely mistaken, Jonathan. Whatever security there is in place at the moment, I will double it. I will shoot you myself if I have to. So rule that possibility out. What I can offer you is a better standard of living.’

  Barnes snarled, his disfigurement distorting his features into something monstrous. ‘I’ve heard it before and I’d be better off dead,’ he said, spittle flying from his mouth.

  ‘We can get you to a better wing. You can remain secluded but I can make sure you get some luxuries. A television, some books. I can even get you a kettle so you can make your own tea. Think of that.’

  It sounded like a poor bargain but Barnes was on partial suicide watch at present so wouldn’t be allowed such privileges.

  ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘Who is trying to set up DCI Lambert?’ said Tillman.

  The same distorted smile appeared on Barnes’ face and Tillman glanced at Lambert a second too late to stop him attacking.

  Lambert grabbed Barnes by the throat, venting all the frustration of the last couple of weeks. ‘You think what they did to you is painful? You wait,’ said Lambert, enjoying the tension in Barnes’ neck as he struggled. ‘Three men are dead, one of them a police officer. You think you’re going to escape retribution for that?’

  Tillman rested his arm on Lambert’s as Barnes began struggling for breath. Lambert held on for a few more seconds before letting go.

  ‘This is your last chance. What do you know?’ said Tillman.

  Barnes coughed, and expelled something bloody from his mouth. He struggled with his breathing but managed a parting shot before the prison door opened. ‘I know you know less than I thought.’

  * * *

  ‘Thanks, Jack,’ said Tillman, once they were back in the car park.

  ‘That’s it,’ said the guard. It was supposed to be a statement, but sounded more like a question.

  Tillman nodded as Lambert climbed into the back of the car. ‘What the hell did Barnes mean by that?’ he said.

  ‘He’s pretending to know something,’ said Tillman.

  ‘I don’t think he’s pretending. What is the security procedure for his transfer?’

  ‘Our friends in MI5 are handling it. Unless they’re involved, I can’t see anything happening. They couldn’t risk it, and there will be so many of them there.’

  ‘But you’re team will be there too?’

  ‘Yes, but I think you’re missing the point somewhat. You’re suspended and implicated in the death of a police officer. And Barnes has given us nothing.’

  Lambert was pleased by Tillman’s concern. The man wasn’t one to openly show his emotions: this was as close as he got to sentiment. ‘They could take your badge for this, you realize that?’

  ‘If they’re prepared to take my badge because of this then they’re welcome to it.’

  ‘Easy to say,’ said Tillman.

  The driver dropped him back at the derelict office building. ‘Stay out of things for the time being,’ said Tillman, as Lambert left the car. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘My gun?’ said Lambert.

  Tillman sighed and left the car. From the boot, he retrieved a Glock 26 pistol. Not the gun Lambert had given him. ‘I’ve signed this out. Davies, you’re a witness to this. I’m assigning it to you despite your suspension.’

  ‘And my own gun?’

  ‘Sometimes I wonder at your stupidity, Lambert. Walking round with a private firearm while on suspension. Do you want to lose your job?’

  It was a good question, one he wasn’t sure he knew how to answer. Lambert watched the car depart. Everything had occurred so fast in the prison he’d yet to process it. Barnes had been like a different person, the change in his personality a mirror of his disfigurement. The confidence and authority had all but vanished until that last second. The policeman Barnes had been had disappeared; in its wake was the creature in the shadows, its only power the malevolent way he smiled at Lambert, as if he knew a secret.

  Lambert tried to explain this to Sarah when she arrived to pick him up, but failed. ‘He certainly didn’t mastermind anything but I’m sure he knows something about Duggan and the others,’ said Lambert.

  ‘He could have picked something up on the prison grapevine?’ suggested Sarah.

  ‘It was more than that.’

  ‘Why don’t we interview him in an official capacity?’

  ‘I certainly can’t. Neither can you, I imagine.’

  ‘DS Kennedy?’

  Matilda had the fourth burner phone. The team appeared no closer to finding a suspect, Duggan’s death clouding rather than clarifying the matter. Matilda had called him after seeing Duggan’s father, who’d raised him alone. It was tough on her but was also a great opportunity to prove she could manage such a difficult case. He reminded himself he was potentially putting her career in jeopardy by asking her to update him.

  ‘I’m not sure we can justify Matilda seeing Barnes. There doesn’t appear to be any reason for it and Barnes could refuse.’

  ‘Or mention you’ve already paid him a visit,’ said Sarah.

  ‘There is that.’

  ‘I could speak to Matilda. Do you think she would let me help?’

  ‘You outrank her. It wouldn’t really work procedurally.’

  ‘It doesn’t appear any of you pay much attention to procedure.’ Sarah kept a straight face but Lambert saw her amusement.

  ‘Very droll. I’ll speak to her tonight and see if we can arrange something for tomorrow.’

  Sarah parked outside her house. ‘Better swap seats,’ she said, not moving.

  Feeling like a teenager on a first date, Lambert didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say, or what Sarah wanted him to say. In the back of his mind, he thought about Sophie and Jane waiting for him at home as Sarah looked at him, the car engine still running.

  The moment passed. ‘I’ll get my bags,’ said Sarah.

  Lambert left the car and helped her with her luggage. Sarah hesit
ated as she took the bags off him, as if she too was nervous about the situation they found themselves in. ‘Speak tomorrow?’ she said, eventually, as they stood facing each other in silence, a world of history between them going unsaid.

  Lambert watched her shut the front door. Starting something with Sarah again would be one complication too far, and he owed it to Sophie and Jane to try and make things work at home, yet he couldn’t help thinking he’d made a mistake as he made his way home.

  Unable to find a space on his own street, he drove to end of the road and parked on a side street next to a local school. It was after eleven p.m., and he decided to wait until morning to call Matilda. He locked up the car and began walking home in time to meet a hailstorm, forcing his walk into a run.

  He was out of breath by the time he reached his front door, his breathing becoming more laboured as he noticed the front door was ajar.

  The procedure at times like this was not to panic. The door didn’t appear to be forced but was off the latch. Lambert withdrew the gun from inside his jacket and moved inside.

  The familiar view of the hallway leading to the kitchen, the staircase and side door to the living room, looked normal yet Lambert sensed something irrevocably alien about the place. He wanted to call Sophie’s name, to scream out Jane’s, but he maintained his professionalism, moving from room to room, gun held in front of him. He cleared the bottom floor and moved upstairs. The building was empty.

  Controlling his mounting panic, he called Sophie’s phone. His heart fluttered when the phone went straight to voicemail. Not missing a beat, he called her mother.

  ‘Michael, why are you calling so late?’