Dead Time Read online

  ‘Worth a try,’ said Lambert.

  She wanted to tell him to get some rest but knew he wouldn’t. He would need to solve the riddle of Beckinsale and Jenkins before he even considered resting, and she imagined finding Saunders would now also become an obsession.

  ‘There is one more thing,’ said Lambert.

  ‘Why do I not like the sound of that?’

  ‘I spoke to Tillman last night. I suggested I should interview Jonathan Barnes.’

  ‘I hope he told you that was ludicrous?’

  ‘In so many words. But I think he may know something. Have you spoken to him yet?’

  ‘No, do you think I should?’

  ‘Tillman has arranged a meeting for you this morning,’ said Lambert, looking apologetic.

  ‘How convenient. How long have I got?’

  ‘Ninety minutes.’

  * * *

  Although slightly put out that Michael and Tillman had arranged the appointment without consulting her, Sarah accepted their motives were good. The fallout from Jonathan Barnes’ imprisonment across the NCA and the Metropolitan Police had been devastating. Trusting your fellow officers was a cornerstone of being in the police. You didn’t always like who you worked with, but you should be able to trust them, so to find out that one of your colleagues, a senior detective, could be responsible for such atrocious crimes was hard for many of her colleagues to accept.

  Woolwich was the fourth prison Jonathan Barnes had been incarcerated in since his conviction. Sarah scanned his file as she waited in the holding area, noting Barnes had initially been in Luton under the supervision of Stuart Pierson.

  ‘DCI May, we meet again.’ A firm, jovial voice greeted her and she stood to shake the hand of Governor Paul Guthrie.

  ‘Mr Guthrie,’ she said, again noting his limp handshake.

  ‘You should have said yesterday that you wanted to speak to Barnes.’

  ‘If only I’d known. Is he ready?’

  ‘Yes, we have arranged a room for you. He’s not the most talkative of fellows. Here.’ Guthrie handed her a list of privileges he was prepared to offer Barnes should he prove to be cooperative.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Sarah, who hadn’t been told any such privileges were to be discussed.

  ‘It’s my pleasure to help, though I’d rather limit what we offer someone like Barnes. Please let me know if I can help any further.’

  Once again, Sarah was struck at the differing attitudes of Guthrie and Pierson. Whereas Pierson was unhelpful to the point of being obstructive, Guthrie couldn’t do enough for her. She wasn’t sure who she trusted less.

  The same guard, Hudson, guided her to the interview room. His stomach appeared to droop even further over his waistband today as he opened the reinforced door where Barnes was waiting. ‘Be warned, he’s not very pretty,’ whispered the guard, with a smile failing to reach his eyes.

  A year ago, Jonathan Barnes had been the same rank as her in the Met. Now all he had to look forward to was a life in prison full of pain. He didn’t look up as she entered the room. His hands and legs were cuffed, a steel chain linking them to a holding iron in the stone floor.

  Sarah had primed herself to view the injuries to the man’s face but nothing could have prepared her for the sight before her. Her first thought was that the man’s face had slipped. The left side of his face drooped towards his chin, the skin melted away. He’d lost the sight in his left eye, and the mottled skin glared back at her – lifeless. Barnes had suffered a so-called napalm attack in prison. The makeshift acid, a mixture of boiling water and sugar, had been poured over his head, scalding his scalp where random tufts of hair now grew from the broken skin. During the attack he’d swallowed some of the substance, so when he spoke his words were garbled.

  ‘DCI May. Lambert’s bitch,’ he said, as Sarah sat down.

  They’d never met but she wasn’t surprised he knew her. ‘That’s not a very pleasant way to start a conversation, Jonathan,’ she said, ignoring the insult.

  ‘What do you want?’ The words came as a growl. It sounded as if each utterance caused pain to the man.

  ‘I’m here to discuss Peter Saunders.’

  Barnes’ right eye flickered in recognition but he didn’t answer.

  ‘You may or may not be aware that Peter Saunders has escaped custody.’

  ‘I’d heard.’

  ‘I’m here to ask for your help, Jonathan.’

  Barnes made a low cackling sound Sarah took for a laugh. ‘Why would I help you?’

  ‘You know how this works, Jonathan. I’ve met with the Governor. There’s a certain set of privileges you could be entitled to if you cooperate.’

  ‘What, like some adequate painkillers?’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘How about prosecuting the people who did this to me?’ said Barnes, with a sneer.

  ‘I can’t help you with that. There was a thorough investigation as far as I understand.’

  ‘Thorough,’ said Barnes, as if saying the word for the first time.

  Sarah handed him the list of preapproved privileges. Barnes glanced at them with his good eye without responding, which Sarah took for acceptance.

  ‘You knew Peter Saunders?’

  ‘I knew of him.’

  ‘In what capacity?’

  Barnes repeated the strange gargling noise he’d made earlier. ‘You think I’m going to incriminate myself?’

  Sarah hadn’t meant to try and catch him out, and as he was facing life in prison with no chance of parole in the next forty years it hardly mattered if he incriminated himself. ‘He was convicted for his part in Waverley Manor, as you know. Can you think of anyone who would help him escape?’

  ‘Can’t you?’

  ‘We have our leads, Jonathan, but if you had anything more specific?’

  Barnes went blank, possibly lost in thought. ‘Everyone I know who could help him is in prison now.’

  ‘You’re referring to the other members of the organization known as the Manor?’

  ‘Am I, now?’

  ‘If you’re not going to help, Jonathan, we might as well call this off.’

  Barnes hesitated but she could tell he was interested in the offer of privileges. ‘I can’t tell you what I don’t know. Have you spoken to his wife?’

  ‘I am seeing her later today.’

  ‘I would suggest keeping an eye on her. She may lead you to him. Aside from that…’ He stopped talking as if he’d lost track of his thoughts and Sarah wondered if the attack had resulted in any lasting psychological damage to the man.

  ‘Jonathan?’

  He shook his head, staring at her like he’d never laid eyes on her before. ‘Aside from that I don’t know.’

  She wanted to wrap things up there. Barnes was either a great actor or didn’t know anything. But she’d promised to help Michael. ‘There was one more thing,’ she said. She told him about the deaths of Alistair Beckinsale and Lance Jenkins.

  Barnes couldn’t hide his glee. ‘So he did send you. I thought as much. Coward. Sending someone to do his dirty work just like when he did this.’ Barnes pointed to his face, the mottled skin and blistered lips. ‘He did this to me, and I’m glad he’s got what’s coming to him. I only hope whoever is responsible takes him next. Nothing could make me happier.’

  Regretting having said anything, Sarah couldn’t resist responding. ‘You do remember why you’re here, don’t you? The things you did…’

  ‘Don’t give me that. Lambert and Tillman did this to me. They broke the law, they’re as guilty as I am.’

  Sarah banged on the door. ‘Guard,’ she said, taking and ripping up the privilege sheet she’d handed to Barnes.

  * * *

  Michael was waiting for her outside. ‘Anything?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure Barnes has adapted well to prison life. The only sensible thing he said was that I should see Saunders’ wife.’

  ‘Damn. It was unlikely he would
talk. How did he look?’

  Sarah sensed the question within the question. She liked to think Michael wasn’t responsible for the attack on Barnes. She had no pity for Barnes but hoped Michael hadn’t resorted to such retribution. ‘Not great.’

  ‘Is he still accusing me of being responsible?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘You don’t believe him, do you?’

  Sarah studied Lambert’s eyes. She knew what he was capable of, what he would do to protect the people he loved, but at the moment she was convinced he wasn’t lying. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No I don’t.’

  ‘Good. You’ll let me know how it goes with Anna Saunders?’

  ‘Of course.’ There was so much she wanted to discuss, but the timing was wrong. ‘You keep me updated too,’ she said, not knowing what else to say.

  * * *

  Saying goodbye to Michael proved harder than she’d anticipated. Although she’d never put him completely out of her mind, she was surprised by the depth of her feelings now he was back in her life. She wanted to question him over his relationship with Sophie, but couldn’t bring herself to do so. She couldn’t be the sort of person who would break up a family. Shaking her head, as if she could empty it of conflicting thoughts, she headed towards her next destination.

  The opulence of the Saunders’ residence came as no surprise. Anna Saunders lived in a row of Georgian buildings in the heart of Maida Vale. Sarah circled the area four times before finding a parking space. She walked through the beginning of a new snowstorm, envious of the customers warm inside the boutique coffee shops and wine bars on the high street.

  Anna Saunders didn’t hide her disdain as she answered the door. ‘I’m not sure why I have to waste my time further, but you may as well come in,’ she said, by way of introduction.

  Sarah followed her across polished wood flooring to what she presumed was the space she used as an office. Anna Saunders sat behind a glass-topped office table and invited Sarah to sit opposite as if she was attending an interview.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me, Mrs Saunders,’ said Sarah. Still wearing her large overcoat, she was overdressed in comparison to Saunders who was lightly wrapped in jeans and pullover. Sarah noticed her manicured nails, the hint of a tan on her exposed skin.

  ‘Yes. Now exactly what do you want?’

  ‘I have to ask, Mrs Saunders,’ said Sarah, forcing a smile, ‘when was the last time you saw your husband?’

  Saunders face morphed into something Sarah could only describe as a snarl. ‘The day he was wrongly convicted for those heinous acts.’

  ‘You think he was innocent?’ said Sarah, unable to hide her incredulity. Only that morning she’d read the evidence against the man. The fingerprints and DNA found at Waverley Manor.

  ‘He was innocent, DCI May. You know as well as I do that people get framed for this sort of thing all the time. Peter made some enemies. I am sure of this as I am sure he will be proved innocent one day.’

  Anna Saunders’ protestations echoed those of Jonathan Barnes. ‘Yet you never visited him in prison?’

  Saunders snarled again, grimacing like she’d swallowed something foul. ‘No, dear. We agreed I shouldn’t visit. It’s not the sort of place that…’

  Sarah raised her eyebrows, waiting for the woman to finish.

  ‘Let’s just say I wouldn’t have felt comfortable in such a place.’

  ‘No, I suppose not. So did you plan to ever see your husband again? He was sentenced to a minimum of thirty-five years. It was highly unlikely he would ever see freedom again.’

  Saunders shifted in her chair and folded her arms.

  ‘Or did you expect to see him again? Was his escape planned in advance?’

  Saunders sat back. ‘I told your colleagues, and I’m telling you now, I have no knowledge of my husband’s so-called escape and if you wish to continue this line of questioning I will be forced to call my solicitor.’

  ‘So-called?’ said Sarah, ignoring the threat.

  ‘I know what happened to Jonathan Barnes. Horrifically mutilated while in a secure unit of prison. Reportedly on the orders of two police officers.’ Saunders whispered the last sentence, leaning in towards Sarah in confidence.

  ‘And you think?’

  ‘I think it is within the realms of possibility that his escape was staged. I believe my husband may have been murdered or kidnapped by the police.’

  Sarah was impressed with the woman’s diversion tactics but ignored the implausible comment. ‘Did you and your husband know Jonathan Barnes?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course we bloody didn’t. The whole thing was an elaborate set-up. Look at the men you arrested. All powerful men – rich men with the exception of your police friend. Someone wanted them out of the way so they could benefit from their absence, just as Chief Superintendent Tillman and DCI Lambert no doubt benefited from Barnes going to prison. That’s where the real crime lies. That’s where you should be investigating. That’s the real travesty of justice.’

  It was classic conspiracy theory, and Anna Saunders either believed it or at least chose to believe it. Denial was a natural reaction to discovering what her husband was capable of. Sarah had seen it countless times before, the disbelieving spouses finding out the truth about the person they’d trusted for a lifetime.

  She changed her line of questioning, playing to Anna Saunders’ theories. ‘OK, if that’s true help me find Peter. I’m not here to condemn anyone. If Peter is in danger I’d like to find him.’

  ‘Find him so you can send him back to prison.’

  ‘If you think he is in danger, surely he would be better off under our supervision? If he truly thinks he has a case to fight then his legal team can put together an appeal. At the moment he is a fugitive from justice.’

  Saunders crossed her arms once more.

  ‘Where do you think he is, Anna?’ asked Sarah.

  Saunders kept her arms crossed and offered the slightest shake of her head.

  ‘Is there anywhere he would feel safe? A special holiday destination perhaps?’

  Saunders eyes darted upwards, suggesting she was thinking about the question.

  ‘If we find him, I will arrange for a private visit. How’s that, Anna? It will be in a prison environment – there’s nothing I can do about that – but we can arrange for it to be just the two of you. You wouldn’t have to wait in those horrendous waiting rooms. I could personally escort you. You could see he was safe, that he was being looked after.’

  Anna Saunders shivered, her eyes watering. ‘You could do that?’ she asked, for a second revealing another side to her personality. The lost and broken side, the one failed by her husband.

  ‘You have my word, Anna.’

  Anna looked down at the glass table. ‘I remembered something the other night. Something he said on our honeymoon. We’d been talking about disappearing at the time, you know the sort of silly things you talk about. What we would do, where we would go. He told me about this place he’d discovered as a child. It was a farmhouse in Norfolk. Funny I should have thought about that, really. I’d been surprised at the time. He’d never struck me as the outdoor type, and he wasn’t. We never visited the countryside in all the time we were married, except that one time. He’d been taken there as a child, you see, before…’

  ‘Before?’ said Sarah.

  ‘Before his parents died. He was nine when they died and I think that place was forever entwined with his memory of them.’

  ‘Do you know where this place is, Anna?’

  ‘Yes. Yes,’ she repeated, her eyes reddening as she began to cry. ‘He took me there once.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lambert should have handled the conversation with Sarah better. She’d been waiting for him to speak, to say something beyond what was important to him and the case, but he’d failed.

  At the time, his thoughts were overwhelmed with Jonathan Barnes. The last time he’d seen the man had been the day of his sentencing. Lambert watche
d every second of the case, obsessed about the prosecution missing any detail. He could picture Barnes now. He’d remained passive for the whole case, only showing a hint of emotion during his cross examination where he’d glared at Lambert, and stared forlornly at his wife and two teenage children.

  After speaking to Sarah, he knew he had to come here. Back to where it all began.

  Waverley Manor.

  Lambert pushed through hedges and loose branches dusted with frost, where once he’d fought his way through almost impenetrable foliage. It was growing back, and he was pleased nature was trying to cover the site, to hide the gruesome secrets hidden within.

  A hundred metres from where he stood was a trapdoor, once hidden, leading to an underground chamber with levels upon chilling levels. It was empty now – the SOCOs had spent months within its depths, had dug up the surrounding area until every body was accounted for – but the place would never lose its dread. The dungeon and tunnels below were cleaned but not yet cemented over, though every fingerprint and DNA trace had been excavated from within. Trees had been planted over the surrounding area. It was changing, and one day soon Waverley Manor would be no more. It was already difficult to pinpoint the exact area, and if Lambert hadn’t spent those nights within its depths he would have struggled to locate the site’s entrance.

  He stood there now, his boots trampling down the frozen foliage. The trapdoor was different to before, had been replaced by the Met. It was chained up so Lambert couldn’t access its depths without a set of bolt cutters.

  Reminiscing was a form of punishment. He’d hoped being here would trigger a memory, or an idea would form and begin to unravel, would explain what the hell was going on. Even now, it was difficult to grasp what had occurred here, and despite the successful prosecutions he would never fully know.

  Barnes, Saunders, and other members of the Manor had used the place as a grotesque playground. Despite his years of investigating the kind of crimes which would make most people physically sick, it was hard to comprehend the extent of the misery which had occurred in this spot. The sheer inhumanity staggered him to this day and the horror of what he’d seen was only exceeded by what he was forced to imagine.