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  Lambert retreated to his office and pulled up the System, searching for news on Sarah and the Peter Saunders’ escape but there were no entries. He was still distracted by seeing Sarah. He couldn’t get her out of his head, the joy of seeing her again counterbalanced by guilt. He drummed his fingers on the desk before summoning in DS Bickland. ‘Inform Fisher’s solicitor we will be keeping him in for another twenty-four hours.’

  ‘And charge him for the assault on the duty sergeant,’ Lambert added.

  Chapter Ten

  DS Adams was already at the scene. Saunders’ escape vehicle was abandoned in a residential area in Crouch End, north London. The authorities were notified after the car received a ticket for being parked without a resident’s permit.

  ‘No cameras on the street,’ said Adams, as Sarah walked over. ‘We’re going door to door as we speak. So far, no one remembers the car arriving.’

  ‘Anyone else been here?’ said Sarah.

  Adams stepped towards her, closer than was comfortable. It was something she’d noticed him doing more and more. He had an issue with personal space which needed to be addressed. She only hoped he wasn’t doing it intentionally. ‘Such as who?’ he asked.

  Sarah took a step back. ‘Any other teams?’

  ‘Oh, you mean MI5. I thought you would know that. They were here before us. In fact they were wrapping things up when we arrived. One of them left his card should we need to liaise.’

  Sarah glanced at the card in Adams’ hand: Charles Partridge, MI5.

  ‘You want it?’ said Adams.

  ‘No, you keep it.’

  If there was anything significant to glean from the scene, MI5 would have already taken it. She considered calling the Chief Constable. She didn’t understand why she’d been assigned the case if MI5 were going to undermine her like this.

  ‘Run a search on missing cars from the immediate area,’ she said to Adams. ‘If Saunders dumped his car here, he may have stolen a replacement.’ She doubted her own words, imagining Saunders had a car waiting for him, but wanted space from the junior officer.

  She walked the length of the street. Was the location of significance? That there was no CCTV was disappointing but unsurprising. When Adams called back she assigned him a further job of coordinating research into the local CCTV cameras. Saunders would have driven past a camera at some point to reach Crouch End. The NCA had a specialized team focused on CCTV, but Adams still looked deflated at the order. He loitered on the spot. ‘Get going, then,’ said Sarah.

  She checked with the other members of her team before returning to her car. Until she was told otherwise, she was still the most senior acting investigator on the case. If Partridge wanted to edge her out he would have to be more forceful.

  She didn’t have an appointment but decided it would be prudent to visit Paul Guthrie. Although the Woolwich prison Governor had been present at the meeting yesterday, she’d yet to question him. He’d explained to the assembled group the security procedure the prison had in place prior to Saunders’ departure, and spoke in defence of the guard John Prine, who was now a suspect. She called ahead, and confirmed an appointment in two hours’ time.

  * * *

  She lunched alone, her thoughts alternating between the case and Lambert. She’d moved to London after working with Lambert on the Souljacker serial killer case in Bristol. She’d been recruited into the NCA, receiving a promotion to Detective Chief Inspector. Since then, her career had stalled. In Bristol, even as a Detective Inspector, her role felt more significant. She’d been the senior investigating officer on most of her cases, and although she was the SIO on the Saunders’ case her responsibility was curtailed significantly by MI5 and Partridge. It was a familiar feeling. She’d been given cases to work since joining the NCA but there was always the sense she was on trial, that someone was waiting in the wings to take over.

  She knew Michael shared her concerns. After the successful Waverley Manor case, he’d made a number of significant arrests only for his investigation into the Manor to be taken away from him. Although they’d had no contact in that time, she knew it still rankled with him. Ever since she’d met him, he’d always appeared to be on the brink of leaving the police force and she wondered how much longer he would stay.

  She read her case notes as she ate her lunch, squirming at the details of Peter Saunders’ role at Waverley Manor. The atrocities were well known to her, but reading about the sheer scale of the abuse, and the number of bodies found beneath the grounds, still made her shiver. Whether or not Saunders was responsible for the design of the place, what was beyond doubt was that the man’s DNA had been found in every corner of the site.

  Lambert’s notes were in the file. It must have been a major blow to see the man escape from prison.

  Reading further into Lambert’s notes, she was reminded of Barnes’ final warning. That Waverley Manor was only the beginning; that similar sites existed throughout the UK.

  The thought was too much to take in at the moment. She turned her attention to her notes on John Prine, the escaped guard. Prine had worked at Woolwich under Guthrie’s supervision for over ten years. Married, with three grown-up children, he had an impeccable record. So what had made him help Saunders?

  In such cases the answer usually boiled down to two possibilities: money and coercion. Checks had already been run on Prine’s bank accounts and showed nothing out of the ordinary. His family were safe, but that didn’t rule out the possibility Prine had been blackmailed regarding their safety. A third possibility was that Prine was a member of the Manor, and helped Saunders due to group loyalty. Partridge had arranged for Prine’s house to be searched and had questioned his family. Sarah read through the transcripts. The family had endured the worst type of questioning at the worst possible time. While fearing her husband was dead, Mrs Prine had been questioned over her husband’s sexuality and potential links to the Manor. It was a tough but necessary line of questioning, one eliciting the same response in all three family members. One of incredulity and anger.

  * * *

  Paul Guthrie greeted her warmly at his office in Woolwich prison. Sarah was wary following her meeting with Stuart Pierson in Luton. Guthrie’s handshake was weak, his palm coated with sweat. ‘Please take a seat. Can I get you a drink?’ he asked, all smiles.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Sarah. ‘Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.’

  ‘My pleasure. Anything I can do to help. Obviously we need to find Saunders and bring him back to face justice for what he did to James, and your officer of course, but we also have the additional worry of our guard John Prine. John is a valued member of our team. I realize in these circumstances you need to treat him with suspicion but we are looking forward to him returning to our team.’

  Guthrie appeared to be out of his depth, talking before being questioned. It wasn’t just that he lacked the alpha male persona of Stuart Pierson – she’d worked with many effective senior personnel who she would describe as introverted – it was more that he was trying to present himself as something he wasn’t. He’d mentioned Prine before she’d asked the question, trying to be assertive but coming across as needy.

  ‘Tell me about James Donnelly and John Prine. How long had they been supervising Peter Saunders?’

  ‘Saunders was on our secure unit. John is a senior guard and leads the unit, James was his subordinate.’

  ‘Of the two, who would have had most interaction with Saunders?’

  ‘Donnelly, though he would have been well known to John Prine.’

  Guthrie was still smiling, trying to appear calm. ‘Why were they chosen to transfer Saunders?’

  ‘We always use our senior officers for such transfers. John has done the same thing hundreds of times and, as I said, Donnelly was one of his main guards.’

  Sarah pictured the van driving through central London. ‘Your officers aren’t armed, are they?’

  ‘No,’ said Guthrie. ‘They receive significant training for comb
ating armed violence. And, of course, there was the armed officer present.’

  Sarah closed her eyes, thinking about her deceased colleague DS Wright. ‘I have to ask, Mr Guthrie. Why do you think our officer and James Donnelly were shot and John Prine survived?’

  For the first time since she’d arrived, Guthrie became defensive, but it was minor in comparison to his counterpart in Luton. ‘I really wouldn’t know, DCI. I imagine that is your area of specialization. If I was to hazard a guess, I would think the officer was eliminated because he was carrying a firearm. As to why John survived and James didn’t, I have no idea. I only hope John is still alive now.’

  It was a fair assessment, and again Sarah came back to thoughts of coercion and finance. ‘Would you be able to show me the procedure you have in place for transferring prisoners?’ she asked, waiting for the same rebuke she’d received from Pierson.

  Guthrie softened. ‘I’ll get one of our guards to show you. It was a pleasure meeting you again.’ They shook hands, Guthrie’s palm damper than before, and the Governor led her to the waiting area.

  Ten minutes later, a guard by the name Hudson showed her around the complex. Hudson’s gut hung over his dark trousers and his breathing was laboured. He showed her to the maximum-security ward where Saunders had been held. ‘We’ve got another one of that lot here,’ he said. ‘Used to be one of your lot.’

  He was talking about Jonathan Barnes but she ignored his cheap insult. ‘How did you find John Prine?’ she asked.

  ‘A good officer, well respected,’ said Hudson, as if reading from a script.

  ‘What about Saunders? You ever interact with him?’

  ‘Here,’ said Hudson, opening an empty cell. ‘This is where Saunders resided. To answer your question, our interaction with the prisoners here is minimal. We drop their food off. Check they’re still alive.’

  Sarah stepped into the cell. It contained a single bed, and a desk attached to the stone wall. There were no photos, no belongings she could see.

  She asked Hudson about this and he shrugged his shoulders. ‘Saunders had to earn the right to belongings. He had some books but we’ve cleared his room now.’

  ‘He ever say anything to you?’

  ‘Not really. He was polite, and because of that I was polite back. He knew who was in charge and respected it so we tolerated him. It’s easier if you treat them as humans, less grief.’

  They walked the route Saunders would have taken to a holding area where he would have embarked the transfer vehicle.

  ‘The officer would have met him here?’

  ‘Yes, we would have run final checks on the vehicle before he left. Only then would the driver be handed the official route.’

  Sarah thanked the prison guard, still no wiser as to how the ambush team knew the route Saunders was taking.

  Chapter Eleven

  The forensics’ reports came in early the next day. Lambert was in his office searching through the System for the non-event which was Peter Saunders’ escape. Matilda had met with Nancy Beckinsale late yesterday afternoon and persuaded her to provide her fingerprints to eliminate her from the crime scene. The forensic report showed no trace of Nancy Beckinsale or Will Fisher being found at the scene of Alistair Beckinsale’s death.

  Lambert stared hard at the report, searching for a reason to charge Will Fisher for Beckinsale’s death. He had motive, coupled with the fact he’d tried to flee the country. It was sufficient grounds for a charge. Lambert still had five hours to decide and wasn’t in any rush to do Fisher any favours.

  Tillman chose that moment to make an appearance. Without knocking, he entered the office and sat down.

  ‘Ah, the SIO,’ said Lambert, not hiding his sarcasm.

  Tillman was out of breath, the shirt covering his huge bulk damp with sweat. ‘Do we have enough to charge Fisher?’ he said, ignoring Lambert’s taunt.

  ‘We have the foundation of a case. He clearly had motive, and the fact that we picked him up in Dover will help our case but the forensic reports came in and there are no signs of him at Beckinsale’s house, and of course there’s the anomaly of the note left at the scene. There’s no explanation for that, and a half-decent defence lawyer would use it to their advantage.’

  ‘You’re sure you’ve never met Fisher before?’

  ‘I would have remembered,’ said Lambert, picturing the skeletal frame and nicotine-smeared hands of the suspect.

  ‘What about the girlfriend?’

  ‘We have her prints at the scene but she has an alibi. She was at work, she’s a nurse at the Royal Free, from six a.m. that morning.’

  ‘So we’re at a bit of standstill,’ said Tillman, with more than a hint of accusation.

  Lambert was used to such a pause in a case. There was rarely a quick fix, and this case had more anomalies than normal. Despite everything, they couldn’t yet prove it was anything more than a suicide. Only the open door and grainy CCTV image suggested otherwise. Lambert said as much to Tillman, who shook his head.

  ‘You really think that?’ said his superior. ‘The front door was open, and if you’re going to commit suicide, why do it in such a manner?’

  Lambert had dealt with numerous suicides in his years as an officer. He’d investigated people taking their own lives in countless elaborate ways which didn’t make sense.

  ‘Maybe he was trying to get my attention, left a note so I could look into what happened to him.’

  Tillman shook his head. ‘No way, this was an attack.’

  ‘OK, but I don’t feel we’re ready to charge Fisher at this point. We’ll have to release him and assign some officers to watch him.’

  ‘And in the meantime?’ said Tillman.

  ‘We’ll keep up our research on Beckinsale and see if there is something in his past we’re yet to uncover.’

  Tillman was about to stand when Lambert stopped him. ‘What’s the latest on the Peter Saunders’ escape?’

  Tillman sighed. ‘That’s none of your concern.’

  ‘Cut the bullshit, Glenn. I should have been involved from the beginning.’

  ‘Well you’re not involved now, and let me give you a massive piece of advice. Steer clear. I can see this going belly-up, it’s been handled poorly.’

  ‘Who’s in charge?’ said Lambert.

  Tillman shook his head, smirking. ‘Fuck off, Michael You know very well DCI Sarah is in charge. You must think I’m stupid – I know you’ve been in contact with her.’

  ‘I spoke to her once,’ said Lambert, unsurprised Tillman knew. ‘But I’ve had no update since. What’s happening?’

  ‘They found the getaway car, no prints other than Saunders’ and the missing guard, John Prine. It was dropped in a dark zone, no CCTV images, no idea what vehicle they took next or where they went.’

  ‘He could be anywhere,’ said Lambert, wondering if Sarah had any more relevant information for him.

  ‘Exactly. As I said, steer clear. They’re not going to find him, and if you get yourself involved you’re going to take the fair share of the blame.’

  Lambert linked his fingers together and rested his chin on them. ‘I’m going to have to release Fisher at four p.m.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Tillman, getting to his feet, ‘Make sure we have someone on him. And for Christ’s sake, take away his bloody passport.’

  Lambert waited until Tillman left the outer office before taking a burner phone from his trouser pocket and calling Sarah.

  * * *

  Sarah was already there, waiting for him. Lambert was overcome by déjà vu as he entered the coffee shop by Leicester Square underground station. He checked with Sarah before ordering a black Americano.

  Sarah offered him a warm smile, her upper lip curling in its familiar way – a gesture still unreadable to Lambert. Despite everything, a sense of temporary peace came over Lambert as he sat down opposite her.

  ‘This reminds me of the old times, these clandestine meetings,’ said Sarah.

  ‘We can�
�t get you in trouble now, can we?’ said Lambert.

  ‘You know I can’t give you anything significant,’ said Sarah, eyes peering out at him over the top of her coffee cup.

  Lambert updated her on the Beckinsale case, mentioning the key players: Will Fisher, Daniella Bolton and Beckinsale’s ex-wife.

  ‘You’ve never met this Fisher before?’

  Lambert shook his head. ‘Obviously it got me to thinking that maybe it’s linked somehow to Saunders’ disappearance.’

  ‘Come on, you don’t think Saunders has anything to do with this? From what I can ascertain, he escaped around the same time Beckinsale was murdered.’

  ‘I don’t think he did it directly but it’s interesting his escape coincided with my name being left at the crime scene.’ Lambert paused, sipped his coffee. ‘I hear you’ve found the getaway car.’

  Sarah laughed. ‘Now why am I not surprised to hear that?’ She lowered her tone. ‘In all seriousness, Michael, MI5 are all over this now. You understand the limitations this puts on what we can discuss. We shouldn’t even be meeting here. If they think you’re interfering they won’t hesitate to take you in.’

  ‘I’ll take my chances. They’re the ones who lost Saunders in the first place.’

  ‘I don’t think it works like that. Technically that will be put at my door.’

  ‘So where are you on finding him?’

  Sarah flashed her lopsided grin again. ‘You don’t give in, do you?’

  She told him about meeting Stuart Pierson in Luton and her more cordial meeting with Paul Guthrie in Woolwich.

  ‘For a covert operation, it appears a lot of people know about it,’ said Lambert.

  ‘That’s my concern. There’s nothing secret here any more, and you know how these cases work. It’s been over twenty-four hours now. Saunders could literally be anywhere in the world at this point.’