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  ‘What’s your next step?’

  Sarah hesitated. Lambert thought she wanted to unburden herself. He was sure she trusted him but understood why she had to keep some things to herself. ‘If I get my way I’ll speak to the other incarcerated members of the Manor. We have them on increased security.’

  ‘If you get your way?’

  ‘I’m waiting for the call. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before this is taken away from me.’

  * * *

  Lambert waited fifteen minutes after Sarah left to join the throng of seasonal revelry outside Leicester Square. Snow fell from the sky as he rushed across the road to the Tube station, the ice droplets exploding into nothing as they hit the concrete pavement. At various stages of his career, Lambert had battled with the bureaucracy blighting his profession. From what Sarah told him he suspected the possibility of a cover-up meaning all the work he’d put into arresting Saunders would amount to nothing.

  His mood hadn’t improved by the time he returned home that evening. Sophie was already asleep. The familiar sense of being under the same roof, but somehow separate, crept over him. Chloe’s death had led to his split from Sophie last time, but their busy lifestyles contributed to the decline in their relationship. It was a cliché of his job that it was close to impossible to have a proper relationship, but couple that with Sophie’s high-profile position and it became even harder to live a normal life. Already the case felt like it had priority. He’d barely seen either Sophie or Jane since the morning he’d dropped his little girl to the childminder’s. Was this a life he could sustain without damaging his relationships once more?

  Exhausted, he succumbed to the lure of alcohol, pouring a large dose of vodka from the freezer. The drink was a departure from his normal tastes. He’d learnt the freezer trick from Matilda and the coldness of the liquid followed by the blast of heat was a welcome relief. He took the drink upstairs to the spare room and sipped it while undressing. A centimetre remained in the glass when he collapsed into sleep.

  He woke to the soft trill of his mobile phone, noticing five missed calls from DS Matilda Kennedy as he pressed answer.

  ‘Sir, where are you?’ said Matilda, breathless on the other end of the line.

  ‘I was asleep.’

  ‘Sir, you better get up. There’s been another one.’

  * * *

  The snow was heavier than yesterday, had settled on the ground overnight. Lambert made quick progress to Catford in south-east London, driving down streets still familiar to him, streets he’d once walked on the beat during his probation. As he approached the flashing beacons and cordoned-off area he knew his growing sense of dread was well placed.

  It was the same tree.

  He glimpsed the body as he left his car. The broken and battered corpse took him back to the end of his probationary period and his first serious case as a fledgling detective. He pushed through the uniformed cops to Matilda who was shielding herself from the snowy downpour. Frozen blood pooled around the twisted body, lying at an unnatural angle against the large oak tree at the side of the junction.

  ‘Seventeen-year-old boy, Lance Jenkins. Parents are on their way,’ said Matilda, handing him a plastic sheath with a piece of A6 card within. ‘Your name was pinned to his jacket.’

  ‘Cause of death?’

  ‘The pathologist is with him now. First thought was a road traffic accident but with the position of the body it appears unlikely. As you can see, the tree is fifteen metres from the road. The boy could have been knocked off his bike and landed there but it appears the body has been arranged in a specific way. Furthermore, there appears to be a lack of blood at the scene as if he’d bled out elsewhere.’

  Lambert moved towards the remains of the racing bike. The frame was bent out of recognition, both wheels crushed into abstract shapes.

  ‘You OK, sir? You look a bit pale.’

  Lambert’s body vibrated from the continuous jets of adrenaline shooting into his system. ‘This has happened before,’ he said.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was no coincidence; the body was there for his benefit. That was why his name was pinned to the boy’s jacket, on a piece of card identical to the one found at the Beckinsale house.

  ‘Sir, I don’t understand.’

  ‘One of my first cases as a rookie detective. Dead boy, seventeen, hit-and-run. His body was found by this tree,’ said Lambert, staring at the mangled cycle like it was a mirage.

  ‘Definitely this tree?’

  ‘I wouldn’t forget, Matilda. We thought it was a simple RTA but it turned out to be anything but.’

  ‘Did you find out who was responsible?’

  Lambert recalled the haunted eyes of the victim’s parents. ‘It was his aunt,’ he said, as if doubting his words. The woman cried in front of me like it was her son she’d lost, but she’d run him down. It was almost wrapped up at one point. I’d become suspicious of a comment she’d made about the boy’s mother and it had stuck with me. Turned out the aunt was unable to have children of her own and her jealousy turned her beyond sour. She later claimed she didn’t mean to kill the boy. She got manslaughter. She’s probably out by now.’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Matilda, processing what she was being told. ‘What the hell does it all mean?’

  The pathologist approached. Lambert was surprised to see it was Lyndsey Harrington. ‘This isn’t your patch, is it?’ said Lambert.

  ‘No, but your lovely Chief Superintendent decided I needed to get out of bed in this early winter morning. I appreciate you providing these bodies for me, Lambert, but could we do something about the timing?’

  Lambert was in no mood for Harrington’s borderline humour. ‘What do we have?’

  ‘What we don’t have is a road traffic accident. At least not one occurring here. The body has lost a lot of blood, which is not present. He has been moved from his place of death. The cause of death would appear to be from a heavy impact, a blunt force instrument to the back of the head.’

  ‘His arms and legs broken too?’ said Lambert.

  ‘Those injuries are post-mortem,’ said Harrington. ‘The poor lad has been laid out in a particular way. As you can see the angles of his bones are unnatural. The breaks appear deliberate, like the killer made them exactly so he could arrange the boy like this.’

  ‘Thank you, Lyndsey,’ said Lambert, walking over to the boy’s body.

  ‘Lance Jenkins,’ said Matilda, crouching on her knees as they studied the corpse. ‘Do you remember the name of the original victim?’ She was trying to be tactful but failing.

  ‘Thomas Powell. He was seventeen as well. See his left arm there,’ said Lambert, pointing to Lance’s arm which was bent backwards at the elbow, almost doubled up on itself. ‘Powell’s arm was exactly like that. It’s one of the many things I haven’t forgotten about the case.’

  ‘I’ll make an order for the files,’ said Matilda, leaving Lambert alone with the victim.

  Lambert wouldn’t have been surprised if every bone in Lance’s body and been arranged in a perverse copy of Thomas Powell’s death. He’d come across copycat killers before but this was something new to him: a re-enactment of a murder, a hit-and-run some twenty-five years on.

  Tension gripped Lambert as he pondered why someone would do this, go to so much trouble to replicate the killing. It was more than a simple question of getting his attention. It was narcissistic, especially considering the mutilated body of the teenager in front of him, but someone was targeting him.

  As snow fell on the vacant eyes of Lance Jenkins, Lambert blamed himself for the tragic sight in front of him. Whoever did this to the boy wanted him to feel this way, to feel responsible for the deaths of Lance Jenkins and Alistair Beckinsale. Lambert had initially dismissed the similarity of Beckinsale’s death to the electrocution case he’d worked on as a first-year beat copper, but now accepted it was more than mere coincidence.

  He considered who would want to do this to him and regretted h
ow easy it was to create a long list within seconds. Lambert had made enemies from the first day he’d started as a police officer. He’d put away hundreds of people, and upset countless more during his career. Although the actions of the killer were specific and vindictive, there were still countless possibilities. His immediate thought was the Manor, his most recent significant case. Until his investigation into Waverley Manor, no one had even heard of the group’s existence. Lambert exposing their network was reason enough to invite retribution, and again he was forced to consider Saunders’ escape was too coincidental.

  But it was just one potential avenue to explore; experience warned him not to be blinkered to other possibilities.

  He considered the most immediate facts. For one, whoever was responsible had detailed knowledge of these old cases. The files were accessible, and accounts of the two previous deaths were in the public record, but the detail of the two cases suggested an intimate knowledge of the original cases. He needed to check if any of the files had been accessed recently and, heaven forbid, if other case files had also been searched. It was unlikely this was the last they’d heard from this killer.

  Secondly, this case ruled out Will Fisher as a suspect. He’d been released earlier that day but had been kept under surveillance.

  A large hand clasped him on his shoulder. The weight, and overfamiliarity of the gesture, meant it could only belong to one person. ‘Glenn,’ said Lambert, turning to see a dressed-down version of his superior.

  Tillman tightened his grip. He was wearing jeans and what appeared to be a bomber jacket. Both items were not usual Tillman attire. Tillman chose not to notice Lambert’s scrutiny. ‘Kennedy tells me you’ve been here before,’ said Tillman. ‘Shall we go somewhere warm?’

  Lambert followed Tillman to his car, the interior fresh with the smell of fast food and Tillman’s sweat. ‘So we’re here because of you?’ said Tillman.

  Lambert told him about Thomas Powell and the similarities with the boy currently slumped against the tree.

  ‘You’re sure this is the same location?’

  ‘You can check but everything is the same. The age of the boy, the type of racing bike, and the way his body is arranged. There’s more, Glenn. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but Beckinsale’s death could also be a recreation. Once when I was still on probation I attended a murder scene where there was an electrocution.’ He told Tillman about the Webster case. ‘I didn’t see the parallel at the time, it’s not the only electrocution case I’ve worked on, but now I don’t think it was a coincidence.’

  Tillman sighed. ‘So in both old cases we have a victim killed by a family member. Does that mean anything to you?’

  ‘I’ve considered that. That part could be coincidence, might not be. Until a couple of hours ago I didn’t realize we were dealing with a serial killer.’

  ‘Someone who intends to recreate every case you’ve ever worked on?’ said Tillman.

  Lambert shuddered at the thought. ‘There’s plenty that’s been missed out, even between these two cases. The killer is being selective, either highlighting these cases because they mean something to them, or because they were the cases he has access to. I’ll investigate if the past and present cases are linked somehow. I need to get some sort of handle on what is going on here.’

  The windows of Tillman’s car steamed over and he switched off the car’s heating. ‘You took the words out of my mouth, Lambert. Your journalist friend is going to have a field day with you. Hates you, doesn’t she?’

  One of many, thought Lambert. Mia had become an enemy during his investigation into a serial killer known as the Watcher. The wife of one of Mia’s journalists, Eustace Sackville, had been the first of the killer’s victims. Mia had interfered in his investigations to the extent Lambert had almost arrested her. In Lambert’s eyes, her sole mission from that day onwards was to discredit him, and now she had an ideal opportunity. ‘Professional loathing, nothing more. Look, Glenn, I’m not ruling out the involvement of the Manor in this. It’s still too much of a coincidence for me that Saunders escaped just as this began to happen. I need access to his case.’

  Tillman sighed, the gesture exaggerated. ‘Good luck with that,’ he said. ‘As far as I can ascertain, MI5 are effectively totally in control now. We’re less than bit players.’

  The words echoed what Sarah May had told him. ‘We still have people working on it, Glenn.’

  Tillman smiled. ‘Yes, but you’re not one of them.’

  Lambert was used to his superior being obstinate. He wasn’t beyond changing his mind but sometimes needed a little persuading. ‘If the Manor has something to do with this then denying me access will only lead to more deaths like Lance here.’

  At the best of times, Tillman struggled with his temper. Lambert saw the anger in his eyes now, the slight change of colour to his cheeks. ‘Who exactly do you want to speak to, Lambert? It’s not as if they have a head office.’

  ‘Barnes,’ said Lambert.

  Tillman sucked in his breath. A former Detective Chief Inspector, Barnes had been arrested by Lambert and Tillman, the first major arrest in the Manor case. Barnes had subsequently been attacked in prison and accused Tillman and Lambert of being responsible. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea at the moment, do you?’

  ‘Someone needs to speak to him, Glenn.’

  Tillman laughed. ‘Someone?’ he repeated, understanding Lambert meant Sarah May.

  ‘Let DCI May speak to him. She can question him over Saunders and slip Beckinsale and Jenkins into the conversation.’

  ‘I’m making no promises,’ said Tillman, opening the car door and signalling the end of the conversation.

  The snow had stopped falling and coated the ground like a second skin. The SOCO’s blurred into the background in their white suits as they finished their various jobs marking the crime scene. Lambert glanced about for Matilda and instead was drawn to the slight figure of another woman. ‘Jesus,’ he said, feet crunching through the snow as he walked over to the area cordoned off by police tape.

  The journalist, Mia Helmer, was deep in conversation with one of the uniforms. She held a handful of hair in her right hand which she twirled whist smiling at the police officer who stood rigidly to attention as Lambert approached.

  ‘Mia,’ said Lambert.

  ‘DCI Lambert. What have you got yourself into? A second victim. This one with your name pinned to them. Do you think the killer did this in case you misplaced his calling card?’

  ‘No comment at this time, Mia. You know the normal channels,’ said Lambert, as the uniformed officer took the opportunity to make himself busy.

  ‘The normal channels are a bit congested at the moment, Michael, and I think we both know why.’

  ‘Surprise me,’ said Lambert, already tired by the conversation.

  ‘A little incident over in Holloway. Shots fired, by all reports. Yet no official comment from the NCA. What can you tell me about that?’

  Lambert was used to bluffing to the press and didn’t reveal his surprise that Mia had stumbled upon news of Saunders’ escape. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he said.

  ‘But your friend does, doesn’t she, Michael?’

  ‘You’ve lost me, Mia. Now, if you don’t mind.’

  Lambert walked away, concerned by how much Mia claimed to know.

  ‘Don’t worry, Michael,’ called Mia. ‘I’ll let Sarah know you were asking about her when we speak.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lambert called Bickland and Croft who were still in West Hampstead and told them to return to head office. He’d decided to disband the incident room in West Hampstead, and to run the Beckinsale case concurrently alongside the Lance Jenkins case from headquarters.

  Lance’s parents arrived as the sun came up. Lambert was thankful Harrington and the SOCOs had finished their work on the body and that Lance had been moved to the back of the ambulance to await transfer. The look of shock and disbelief on the faces
of Mr and Mrs Jenkins was all too familiar. They were caught in a waking nightmare and Lambert struggled to offer them any meaningful words. He’d been in this position countless times before, and the only truth was that their lives would never be the same again.

  Matilda held Mrs Jenkins upright as her legs failed her, while Lambert studied Mr Jenkins’ studied detachment. He could almost see the man’s thought patterns as he moved swiftly to and fro through the stages of grieving, only to return granite-like to denial. ‘No,’ he started muttering to himself, as his son’s body was covered up again. ‘No,’ he continued, his voice strained and increasing in volume until Lambert instructed one of the uniforms to restrain him as gently as they could.

  The parents would have to be questioned and, remembering the Thomas Powell case, it was too early to rule them out as potential suspects. Unfortunately, grief was not a guarantee of innocence.

  He left Matilda in charge and drove into the NCA headquarters in central London. The place was already bustling with people and Lambert received a number of glances as he made a quick detour to the canteen to top up his caffeine intake. News spread fast in this place and everyone would know about the second victim. He ignored the questioning looks and took his coffee to the office on the fifth floor. The open-plan space where his team worked was deserted, everyone either in Catford or West Hampstead. Despite this, Lambert shut the door to his office, happy to be cocooned within its four walls.

  He fired up his laptop and loaded the System. His first search was the Thomas Powell case but that, and the Dominic Webster case predating it, had not been entered onto the database. Many older cases were not digitized and he would have to order paper files. For the time being he searched for newspaper articles featuring Thomas Powell and found what he was looking for, a full article by the journalist, Eustace Sackville. The article credited Lambert for his investigation. A picture showed Powell, young and fresh-faced, smiling towards the camera, no concerns about his immediate future in his bright eyes. Lambert was sure there would be a picture of Lance Jenkins online by the end of the day. Lambert continued reading the article and confirmed the name he recalled.