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  DS Adams was the first to arrive. Sarah smelt the nicotine before setting eyes on him. Twenty years her junior, Adams had been on her team for the last nine months. Diligent and hard-working, he raised his hand on seeing her – an overfamiliar gesture she didn’t wish to encourage.

  ‘What have you got for me, Adams?’

  Adams repeated the gesture. ‘Nothing. Only four people knew Saunders was being moved and they did little more than put him in the van. As you know, Saunders was in solitary and didn’t know he was moving until five minutes before the fact.’

  ‘We need to follow this up. Someone knew he was moving and the route they were taking. Do background searches on everyone you spoke with. Look for anything, however trivial it might seem.’

  Adams stood his ground, nodding his head. Sarah held her hands out. ‘What are you waiting for?’

  Adams shook his head as if coming out of a trance. ‘Yes, sorry, ma’am,’ he muttered, finding a spare desk and unloading his laptop from his bag.

  Sarah took a seat behind her own desk. She hadn’t managed a run that morning and her limbs were tight. A restlessness came over her, combined with a vague sense of claustrophobia. She started a new page on her notebook with the header: ‘People who knew of Saunders’ transfer’. She listed the deceased guard and police officer, and the missing guard, John Prine, followed by those in the support vehicle.

  She added the Governor of Woolwich, Paul Guthrie, and the four guards Adams had spoken with. To the list she added the name of the Luton Governor, Stuart Pierson. She sighed. The list was already too long to allow any kind of secrecy. She completed her research and added another five names to the list, before calling Stuart Pierson at Luton prison who agreed to meet her later that evening. It would be at least a one-hour drive at this time of the day so she packed her bags and headed for the car park.

  * * *

  Outside, she realized she was underdressed despite being wrapped in a three-quarter-length coat.

  She noticed the figure lurking by the bus shelter. He watched her approach from the shelter of the bus station on the main road. He was one of eleven people waiting but something about the way he stood, and the intensity of his gaze, made her sure he was waiting for her. As she continued on her way he began to move. His physique and the way he walked were familiar to her and she began to relax. As she reached the car, she could make out his face and she managed a smile.

  ‘Michael, what are you doing here?’

  Chapter Six

  Lambert was surprised by his visceral response to seeing Sarah again. They hadn’t seen each other since his move back home with Sophie. It was Sarah who’d suggested he make the move. She claimed her decision was a selfish one; that at some point Lambert would regret not moving back in with his wife and child. Seeing her now, Lambert’s resolve faded. With the wind battering her face, sending her hair into a tangled mess, she looked confused and disgruntled but still managed the lopsided smile he’d been smitten with.

  ‘Michael, what are you doing here?’

  Her words were almost lost in the wind.

  ‘Can we?’ he said, pointing to the car.

  Sarah hesitated. They had decided not to contact each other once he’d moved back in with Sophie and, not for the first time, Lambert questioned the decision. Had the break been too severe? He’d wanted to call her on numerous occasions and had come close to contacting her, but it wouldn’t have been fair on her or Sophie.

  ‘Get in,’ said Sarah, unlocking the car.

  Sarah’s hair fell back into place as they sat in the car, the engine running as the heating filtered through the air-conditioning ducts. Lambert’s pulse intensified as Sarah turned to look at him. ‘Well?’ she demanded.

  Lambert considered apologizing for not being in touch but Sarah wouldn’t care about that. He decided to get straight to the point. ‘I know about Peter Saunders,’ he said.

  The statement did little to ease the tension in the car. Sarah rubbed at her left eye. ‘What do you know?’ she said, her reaction unreadable.

  ‘I know everything about his escape. The ambush, the dead prison guard and officer. The missing guard.’

  Sarah couldn’t hide her surprise this time. Her eyes widened as her hand moved to her mouth. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? How?’

  ‘Tillman.’

  ‘I might have guessed.’

  ‘What the hell is going on, Sarah?’

  ‘You seem to know exactly what’s going on, Michael,’ said Sarah, a familiar hint of mischievousness returning to her voice.

  ‘I mean with the secrecy. The cover-up. I’ve been to Holloway Road.’

  The lighter tone evaporated once more. ‘You haven’t been asking questions, have you?’

  ‘Of course I have.’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘Somehow, I forgot what you were like.’

  ‘He was my conviction, Sarah. My case. I can’t believe I wasn’t informed.’

  ‘No one was withholding anything from you, Michael. We would have notified you but we have slightly bigger concerns at the moment, such as finding where the hell Saunders has gone.’

  ‘Did you not think I might have been able to help?’

  ‘It crossed my mind, but the escape was supposed to remain classified. I’ve just had a meeting with the Chief and some arsehole from MI5. How the hell did Tillman find out about this?’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ said Lambert.

  ‘Maybe not. I’m sorry he’s escaped, Michael. I know what he did, what they all did, and what you went through.’

  ‘But?’ said Lambert.

  Sarah smiled again. ‘We’ve been here before, haven’t we?’

  ‘You tell me not to interfere, and I do it anyway.’

  ‘Something like that. You can trust me to get the job done on this, Michael. AC-10 are managing things to make sure it’s above board. You being involved will not fit those criteria.’

  ‘Anti-corruption? Nothing about this fits in with procedure, Sarah.’

  Sarah turned the heating down in the car. She told him about the national security concerns mentioned by the Chief and Partridge from MI5.

  ‘National security? Something’s off here,’ said Lambert, shaking his head.

  ‘Those are my orders, Michael.’

  Lambert’s mind was in a whirl. ‘Something you should consider,’ he said. He told her about Beckinsale and the card left at the scene.

  ‘It had your name on it?’ asked Sarah. ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Not long after Peter Saunders escaped custody.’

  ‘Oh come on, Michael.’

  ‘Give me some credit, Sarah. I’m not suggesting Saunders had any direct involvement, but it’s one hell of a coincidence, don’t you think? A corpse turns up on the day one of my high-profile convictions escapes custody.’

  ‘It could be just that though. A coincidence.’

  ‘No doubt, but don’t you think we should align our investigations?’

  Sarah offered him her lopsided grin again. ‘Good try. Send me over your case details.’

  Lambert shrugged and smiled back. ‘OK, if you promise to keep me posted.’

  Sarah raised three fingers. ‘Brownie promise,’ she said.

  They sat for a time in silence. Lambert grasped for words just out of reach. He appreciated their split had been unnatural and was still not fully resolved. A sense of denial hung over their relationship, and seeing Sarah again reinforced it.

  ‘I need to go, Michael,’ said Sarah, her voice little more than a whisper.

  ‘Take this,’ said Lambert, handing her a mobile phone. ‘It’s not registered. Use it in case you need to contact me off the record.

  She hesitated before accepting the phone as Lambert stole one last glance at her before leaving the car for the rain-speckled darkness. He watched the car pull away, confused by how bereft he felt at her departure. They’d done little more than discuss their respective cases, but what they’d left unsaid was almo
st tangible. Lambert analysed her every response, searching for a gesture, a clue to how she was feeling, but their brief time together left him more confused than ever.

  * * *

  Matilda called as Lambert drove home. She’d arranged for Beckinsale’s ex-wife to visit the station the following morning.

  ‘How did she take the news about her ex-husband?’ asked Lambert on the car’s internal speaker system.

  ‘Not well. I got the feeling she didn’t really consider herself an ex,’ said Matilda.

  ‘Where are we on Will Fisher?’

  ‘We have officers stationed outside his flat but no sign yet. We’ve checked out all his old haunts. He’s gone underground by the looks of it but we’ll flush him out.’

  ‘That’s what I like to hear, Matilda, some positivity. See you in the morning.’

  ‘Sir.’

  * * *

  It was early evening by the time he reached home. Sophie and Jane were in the living room watching children’s television. Both were dressed in nightwear.

  ‘What are you doing up, cutie?’ Lambert said to Jane, kissing her on the forehead.

  Jane smiled but didn’t take her eyes off the screen.

  ‘She fell asleep when I picked her up from Lorraine’s. I shouldn’t have let her sleep but she looked knackered. How was your day?’

  ‘Not over, unfortunately,’ said Lambert.

  ‘I see, another fleeting visit?’

  ‘I’ll be upstairs,’ said Lambert, trying to ignore the nagging guilt he felt at having met with Sarah earlier, and his response to seeing her again.

  In his office he logged onto the System and went through his old files on the Manor. He flipped through pictures of Waverley Manor, the torture dungeon he’d uncovered. Horrified by the images he’d seen hundreds of times before, he forced himself to scroll through them again, one by one. He recalled the night he’d found the underground prison, the charged atmosphere and looming sense of dread; the discoveries beneath the ground beyond the limit of his own nightmares.

  He dragged his eyes away from the terrible images and clicked on a photo of Peter Saunders. The seventh arrest from the Manor group, Saunders was convicted on multiple counts of murder and manslaughter as well as numerous sexual offences. Lambert checked his anger, enraged such a man was now on the loose.

  He checked the System for an update on the Saunders’ escape but it was as if the incident hadn’t occurred. Lambert checked through profiles of the Governor of Woolwich prison, Paul Guthrie, and the guards who would have been responsible for Saunders including John Prine, who’d vanished along with Saunders. He managed to access the prison’s files but could find no mention of Saunders’ transfer.

  He considered calling Tillman but didn’t want to alert his superior that he was investigating Saunders’ disappearance when he’d been warned off. Instead, he returned his attention to Beckinsale’s death. He searched through his social media presence, hoping to find a glimpse of anything linking the man to him, anything to explain why Lambert’s name was found at the scene. He read Will Fisher’s crime sheet once more, examining the events that put him in prison. The attack was savage though not premeditated. Murder was a different beast and Lambert doubted Fisher was the sort of person who could pull off such an act. Did he really have a strong enough motive? He knew Daniella was seeing Beckinsale, as well as the others, and was presumably reaping the benefits. So why the sudden change of heart? Daniella could be lying, and her relationship with Beckinsale could be more serious than she claimed. Finding Fisher was the priority, and he hoped Matilda’s optimism about finding the suspect was justified.

  He slammed the laptop shut and returned downstairs. Time had slipped away; it was past midnight. The house was deserted, Sophie and Jane having gone to bed. He poured a small glass of red wine. The alcohol tasted coppery and he emptied the contents down the sink. Collapsing on the sofa, he tried to empty his mind of the myriad thoughts troubling him. The events of the Manor had never fully left him, never would, and he felt a familiar obsessiveness returning.

  His vision began to cloud, replaced by thousands of miniscule dots of fiery colour, a sign he was about to slip into unconsciousness. Lambert suffered from a self-diagnosed form of narcolepsy. The condition was episodic, usually triggered by times of high stress. Over a year ago, he’d had a CAT scan. He’d undertaken the procedure in secret and the scan failed to uncover anything physical to explain why he suffered such episodes. Since then, he’d learnt to live with the occasional blackouts. They were usually impossible to fight, and as it was too late to get upstairs he made himself comfortable on the sofa seconds before slipping into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Seven

  It was almost two hours before Sarah reached Luton, most of which she spent thinking about Michael Lambert. His appearance had come as a shock, personally and professionally. The last time they’d seen each other he’d decided to go back to his wife. It was Sarah who’d suggested he make the move. How could she not? Sophie had a new baby and the whole of Michael’s life up to that point had been overshadowed by the terrible circumstances leading to the death of his daughter, Chloe, years before.

  Sarah had tried to put Michael out of her mind during the last year, and to a certain extent succeeded. Her focus was her work and it had almost been enough, but seeing him now made everything come thundering back. They’d been through so much together. Before becoming lovers they’d worked on the infamous Souljacker case in Bristol, their shared experiences solidifying their relationship.

  She felt blindsided by his turning up unannounced, and was annoyed with herself for her reaction. And the reason for him contacting her only made matters worse. Peter Saunders’ escape would not remain secret for long but even she was surprised by how quickly the news had spread to Lambert. In a matter of hours, Partridge’s hope that the case would remain secret had evaporated. Already she could add Tillman and Lambert to her list of people who knew about Saunders’ escape, and in twenty-four hours the current list would be a tiny fraction of those in the know.

  Furthermore, Lambert’s involvement would lead to complications. Her warnings over AC-10 and MI5 would be ignored. Peter Saunders had been his case, and knowing what the Architect did, and what Lambert went through to convict him, she understood Michael would be watching her every move.

  She was thankful Stuart Pierson had waited for her. The prison Governor met her at reception and walked her through to his office. He had the air of a man in charge, his walking stride quick and purposeful. Even at this late hour, he appeared fresh, his suit neat and pressed, his face stubble free. It was a change from the tired-looking colleagues she was used to working with.

  ‘It’s probably too late for coffee?’ he said, with a hint of a northern accent. ‘I could get you something stronger if you wish?’

  ‘No thank you, Mr Pierson, I have to drive back to London.’

  Pierson nodded though he looked disappointed. ‘Don’t let me stop you though,’ said Sarah.

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Pierson waving his hand. ‘Terrible business,’ he said, taking a seat behind his desk. ‘I heard there were some fatalities.’

  ‘It appears more people know about Peter Saunders’ escape than we’d envisioned. Could you tell me which of your guards knew about Peter Saunders’ planned arrival?’

  Pierson opened the screen on his laptop and punched in some keys.

  ‘As per your instructions we kept people in the know to a minimum. Only two of my guards and I knew about the identity of our new prisoner.’

  ‘But the rest of your team knew someone was arriving?’

  ‘Yes, they knew there was an arrival due to maximum security.’ He pressed a button on his laptop activating an ancient dot matrix printer on a shelf behind him. ‘Here,’ he said, handing her a faded sheet with the names and addresses of the guards who knew of Saunders’ arrival.

  ‘This is an awkward question to ask, and I am sure it sounds impertinent, but would your guards
share info with anyone else? Friends, spouses or even inmates?’

  ‘These two are my best,’ said Pierson. ‘Very experienced, they know better than to talk. If you’re looking for a scapegoat you won’t find it here.’

  Sarah went to answer but held her tongue a few seconds, allowing silence to descend. Pierson’s defensiveness came out of nowhere and she wanted to process it before continuing. She waited until Pierson grew uncomfortable before speaking.

  ‘We’re all on the same side here, Mr Pierson, but you must appreciate my situation. Only a few people knew about Saunders’ transfer and obviously one of them has talked.’

  ‘Maybe so, but we were only given Peter Saunders’ name last night. Here, I have the documentation,’ he said, handing her a sheet of paper. ‘We were told a category A prisoner would be arriving, but received this yesterday. It’s dated and time-stamped 5.32 p.m. It’s the first I or any of the guards knew that Peter Saunders was coming. As you can see, there is no mention of the route the guards would be taking, so I believe the chance of my guards speaking to outside sources and planning and arranging an elaborate escape in less than twenty-four hours are close to zero. Would you agree, DCI May?’

  Sarah glared at the man. She noted the way he’d become visibly animated following his little speech. The propensity of those in senior positions to cover their backs had long ceased to amaze Sarah, but Pierson’s rudeness jarred.

  ‘May I keep this?’ she said, holding the transfer papers and the names of Pierson’s guards.

  ‘My pleasure,’ said Pierson, smiling as he got to his feet.

  She could have told him the papers meant nothing to her, that she would continue investigating him and his guards whatever timestamps he provided, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d upset her.