by Matt Brolly
He’d spent the last few months working on finding Wyatt with his boss. Lambert had some grave reservations about their work. His main concern centred on the fact that Wyatt’s latest victims were Tillman’s former colleagues, Devlin and Kirby, who he’d met the previous year during the parole hearing for Joseph Wyatt. Tillman was too close to the investigation and Lambert was surprised he’d been given the case in the first place.
Well, as surprised as he could ever be when it came to Tillman. In the three years Lambert had been part of Tillman’s team, it had become apparent Tillman had carte blanche to do whatever he wanted. The Group’s secret headquarters were fitted out with top of the range equipment, and Tillman, at least on the surface, didn’t appear to report to anyone.
The incident room was set up in a secret location in a serviced office building five minutes’ walk from the tube station. Lambert greeted the security guard by the front desk and took the lift to the fifth floor where he was presented with a door protected by an electronic identification system. Lambert punched in his eight-digit code and opened the door, immediately wishing he’d stayed at home.
‘Sir?’ said Lambert.
He’d only met the Chief Constable, Adam Hickman, twice before and had never spoken to the man. It was bizarre seeing him in the office, stranger still to see him completely alone. ‘DCI Michael Lambert?’ said Hickman.
‘Sir.’
‘So this is Tillman’s little hideout,’ said Hickman, getting to his feet and pacing the room. He studied the various images on the murder walls: photographs of Kirby and Devlin, next to the original victims Michelle Lewis and Lisa Bradford from twenty-five years ago, and to one side the only person so far to have escaped Wyatt, Alice Fowler.
‘Sir.’
‘How the hell they ever let that animal out, I’ll never know.’
‘Is there something I should be made aware of, sir?’ asked Lambert.
‘Now that you ask, there is. I was supposed to meet Chief Superintendent Glenn Tillman this morning for breakfast but he didn’t turn up. His phone goes straight to answerphone and he is not at his flat. I sent two of my officers around and the damage to the shrubbery outside his place suggests he may have been involved in some form of struggle.’
‘Shit,’ said Lambert.
‘Shit indeed. So I take it from that you haven’t heard from him?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then I’m afraid we have to presume that Chief Superintendent Tillman is missing. We further have to work on the basis that we will discover his body in seven days if we don’t find him.’
Lambert had warned Tillman but he wouldn’t listen. It made perfect sense for Wyatt to come after him next. He’d killed two of the three men who’d put him behind bars, so why not the third? Tillman had told him they didn’t have the resources, but Lambert didn’t think that wasn't the reason Tillman hadn’t wanted security. The man was under the illusion that he was invincible.
The reference to finding the body in seven days related to the bodies of Kirby and Devlin each turning up seven days after they’d gone missing. ‘What a mess.’
‘Yes, what a mess.’
Hickman was about to elaborate when another member of the Group, DI Adrienne Corrigan, joined them. Adrienne was the oldest member of the Group. Close to retirement age, she was the hardest working officer Lambert had ever encountered. She lived at headquarters - always there in the morning when he arrived, still there when he left. ‘Michael,’ she said.
‘At present, only you, DI Corrigan, and I know about this. I want it to stay that way. I don’t want the press getting hold of this, do you understand, DCI Lambert?’
The press would get to hear about it if Tillman’s body was washed up on the Thames but Lambert wasn't about to tell the Chief that. ‘Sir.’
‘I’ve just been to Glenn’s flat. Definite sign of a struggle. ‘I’ve canvassed the whole area but no witnesses,’ said Adrienne.
‘With all due respect, sir, do you think we are the best section to handle this case,’ said Lambert. He would do everything in his power to find Tillman, but having his superior’s existing team on the investigation felt like a conflict of interest.
Hickman shook his head, the fluorescent light catching the skin of the bald patch on his thinning grey hair. ‘You’re the right man, Lambert. With your background and DI Corrigan’s…diligence, you have all the resources you need. Get your colleagues in but keep this in house.’
‘You want us to manage this alone?’
‘If you need extra resources contact me. I will provide them, but no one is to know about this. I expect a report at the end of play each day,’ said Hickman, walking towards the day. ‘And Lambert?’
‘Sir.’
‘I expect you to find him,’ said Hickman, his words laden with threat.
Lambert collapsed onto the nearest seat. Although part of him expected it, he couldn’t believe Tillman had been taken. The man’s self-belief was so forceful that Lambert had bought into his invincibility. He half expected Tillman to burst through the door, his shirt pulled tight against his considerable bulk, and demand Lambert get back to work.
‘When did you find out about this?’ he asked Adrienne.
‘Not long before you. I was at the meeting with Hickman waiting for Glenn to arrive.’
‘He’s definitely missing?’
Adrienne didn’t answer. Lambert acknowledged he’d asked a stupid question. He glanced at the various murder boards, at the images already ingrained into his memory. The Chief’s threat had been all too clear. Lambert would take the blame if Tillman wasn’t found. It was career-defining. It was unfair but Lambert was used to such injustices. He was presented with them on a daily basis, pieces of bureaucracy that hindered his job and made him wonder about his career choice.
Where to turn to now? Wyatt had gone missing six months ago. Tillman had led the investigation into his disappearance immediately after Wyatt missed his first probation meeting. He would have been returned to prison for breaking his terms of release and initially it had been viewed as a good thing. But the man simply vanished. Wyatt had left all his stuff at his room at the halfway house, even £35 in cash. He’d left in a hurry, and the initial working theory had been that he’d taken his own life. But then, three months later, the body of Mark Devlin had been found by the river in Rotherhithe.
If the deaths of Tillman’s former colleagues had taken an emotional toll on Lambert’s superior, he’d hidden it well. It was all about work for him, and his passion for that was always relentless. The death of Terry Kirby a month later only strengthened his conviction to find Wyatt. On the rare moments he’d managed to speak to Tillman on a personal level, he’d always avoid talking about his time together with Devlin and Kirby. Unless it was relevant to finding Wyatt, and in Tillman’s view it wasn't, he hadn’t wanted to discuss it.
Adrienne wasn’t the sort of officer Lambert had felt comfortable discussing Tillman’s emotional state with during the investigation. She wasn't exactly cold but she was more pragmatic than he was. She would see Tillman’s emotional state as an irrelevance to the pressing matter in hand. ‘Where do you want to start?’ he asked.
‘I’ve made a list of tasks. Usual procedure. I am going to speak to the families of Kirby and Devlin. It’s a long shot but they might know something. Anything you can add?’
Lambert glanced at the operations manual Adrienne had already put together for him, the list of people they needed to speak to, the locations to be visited. He thought back to that time at the bar, awaiting news on Wyatt’s parole meeting. And afterwards with the doors locked, Tillman sucking down whisky like water with Devlin and Kirby. Aside from Lambert, the only man who’d been present that night who wasn’t either dead or missing was Daniel Hogg. ‘I need to speak to the journalist,’ he said, Adrienne already heading towards the door. She nodded and left as Lambert cranked opened his laptop and located an office address for the man.
3
Til
lman had never experienced pain like it. He’d never given it much thought but within SOCA he had the reputation of being a hard man. People thought of him as an ‘old school’ copper. He didn’t like the association. To his mind it suggested he was behind the times, was prepared to step over the line to get things done. He would rather be known as hard but fair, but as the man placed the cloth over his face for a second time all thoughts about being tough vanished. He was a trembling wreck and wanted it over. Better the man take his life than make him endure another second of this.
Unfortunately, his captor wasn't attuned to Tillman’s feelings. Without a word, he began pouring water over the cloth. Tillman tried not to panic but it was impossible. Later he would marvel it how effective such a simple technique could be. For now, he began thrashing in his restraints as he felt the weight of the world push down onto his chest, his lungs bursting.
‘There, there,’ said the man, lifting the rag from his face.
Tillman gasped for air like a fish plucked from the sea. It felt like he’d endured the waterboarding for minutes when it had probably been only seconds. That was why the torture was so effective. They said it mimicked the sensation of drowning. If that was the case, then the theory that drowning was a pleasant way to die was far off the mark.
‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked his assailant, disgusted with the whine he heard in his voice. The man had to be Wyatt. He had yet to reveal his face, but who else could it be?
Devlin and Kirby had been found seven days after they’d gone missing. Wyatt hadn’t killed them immediately, their autopsies suggesting they died within twenty-four hours of their bodies being discovered. And although that gave Tillman another six days, if the last few minutes were anything to go by, the next week was likely to be the worst of his life.
The masked figure looked down on him.
‘Why don’t you end it?’ demanded Tillman, his body still trembling from the waterboarding.
‘You haven’t suffered enough yet,’ said Wyatt. ‘You should have ended it when you had the chance.’
4
Lambert took the Docklands Light Railway to Canary Wharf. Although the DLR had been in operation for over two decades, the journey into East London always felt like something out of a JG Ballard novel. The silent hum of the driverless carriages ushered him across the river Thames, past giant glass buildings. There was a clinical coldness to the place, a sense of loneliness to the nondescript office blocks and the worker ants occupying them.
The broadsheet newspaper’s headquarters was in One Canada Square with its distinctive pyramid roof. The original skyscraper of the Isle of Dogs was still the tallest building in the skyline despite the numerous competing buildings that had sprouted up over the years. Lambert hadn’t called ahead so was stopped by a jobsworth security guard in the foyer of the building, a large open spaced area with marbled floors. ‘I can’t let you up without a pass,’ said the guard, when Lambert flashed him his warrant card.
‘I’m here to see Daniel Hogg,’ said Lambert.
‘Do you know which floor he works on?’
‘No,’ said Lambert, matching the guard’s gaze until he looked away.
Eventually the guard relented and located Hogg, asking Lambert politely to take a seat.
Ten minutes later, the journalist appeared. Ashen-faced, his forehead was damp with perspiration as if he’d sprinted down the steps from his office. ‘DCI Lambert, this is a surprise. Everything ok?’ he asked, holding out his hand.
His handshake was weak, his palm coated in sweat. ‘Is there somewhere we can speak in private?’ asked Lambert.
‘Of course.’
Another painful five minutes passed as Lambert was given security clearance and a tag to wear around his neck. Hogg led him to the elevators that shared the same gentle hum of the DLR as they rose into the heights of the tower. Lambert caught the faint whiff of alcohol on the man. ‘You enjoy working here?’ asked Lambert.
‘The novelty wears off pretty soon, especially in rush hour,’ said Hogg, giving way to Lambert as the lift doors eased open.
Hogg led him through the journalists’ equivalent of a bullpen, an open planned office space where Hogg’s colleagues stared at digital screens whilst battering their keyboards. It was a far cry from the Fleet Street offices Lambert recalled from his early years on the force. The smoke filled rooms where the journos battled with the thick keys on their typewriters. ‘Is this free, Maggie?’ Hogg asked a young woman, in a tailored trouser suit.
‘It’s needed in thirty minutes,’ said the woman, disappearing into the main office.
‘Can I get you anything?’ asked Hogg, as they sat.
Behind Hogg, the small window gave stunning views of the meandering river and the millennium dome.
‘I’m fine,’ said Lambert.
‘Is this about the Wyatt case?’ said Hogg.
‘This is strictly off the record, Mr Hogg.’
‘I understand and call me Dan. You’ve seen me pissed out of my mind. I consider you a friend.’
Lambert stared at Hogg, appraising him. He was the same age as Tillman but had aged badly. His skin was ragged and pitted, a swirling grey mess of hair covered his scalp in uneven patches, and his ruby red nose marked him out as a drinker. He’d been drunk that time at the bar, but they all had, the bottle of whisky not lasting long as Tillman continually filled their glasses like an over-enthusiastic waiter. Lambert remembered what the Chief Constable had told him. Tillman’s disappearance was supposed to be a secret, but here he was in the heart of a press building talking to a journalist about it. ‘It’s more than off the record. What I’m about to tell you can go no further than this room.’
Although Hogg had run the story on the original Wyatt killings, he’d declined the opportunity to report on the deaths of Devlin and Kirby. Unlike Tillman, he felt his relationship to the two men made it a conflict of interests. ‘I understand. You have my word.’
Lambert studied the man as he told him about Tillman’s disappearance. Aside from a slight twitch in his right eye, Hogg gave little away.
‘You sure he’s actually missing? It wouldn’t be the first time Glenn went AWOL.’
‘We’re sure.’
Hogg pinched his nose, his pallid features somehow losing more colour as the full extent of the situation hit him. ‘I find this all so surreal. A year ago that maniac was still in prison and now…now I am going to lose another friend.’
Despite his words, Lambert wasn't convinced Hogg was being genuine. ‘There could still be time, Dan. I need to know everything you know about Wyatt, about what happened that first time around.’
Hogg sighed, the sound low and haunted as if Tillman’s fate was completely in his hands. ‘What do you know about Wyatt’s arrest on the night Alice Fowler was rescued?’
Lambert had read the three officer reports from that night in detail as well as the testimony of Alice Fowler. ‘Tillman went to the rowing club to question Wyatt, only to discover that Wyatt had headed off with Alice Fowler. Tillman had tracked the pair to the old boathouse in Fulham, arriving in time to rescue Alice Fowler from her attacker.’
‘Anything ever strike you as strange about that whole scenario?’
‘You mean how easy it was to locate Wyatt?’
‘Exactly. Even if he’d got away with killing Alice, everyone knew he was the last person to be with her. He would have become a suspect either way.’
‘You think he wanted to get caught?’ asked Lambert.
‘I think he wanted to stop doing what he was doing. Remember, Michelle Lewis’s death was technically manslaughter.’
That much was true. Michelle Lewis was Wyatt’s first victim though he was never convicted of her murder. He’d claimed he hadn’t meant to kill her. They’d been playing by the river and things had got out of hand. In his own words, he’d held her under the water to see what she’d look like. When he’d let her go, it had been too late. Wyatt admitted to the murder of Lisa Bradford, the se
cond victim, and the attempted murder of Alice Fowler so the conviction of manslaughter for Michelle Lewis was easier for the prosecution to accept. ‘So why the hell has he started doing it all again?’
Hogg groaned as he stood up. He placed his palms against the window of the office, bent over as if the wind had been knocked out of him. ‘There’s something Glenn never told you about that night. It’s not in the reports and he only told me one night when he was drunk. I’m not sure he even remembers telling me.’
It was Lambert’s turn to sigh. ‘What happened?’
Hogg was too far in now not to tell him. ‘After dragging Wyatt off Alice, Glenn was left to tend to her on the shore while they waited for an ambulance and back up.’
‘And?’ said Lambert, sensing he didn’t want to hear what the journalist was about to tell him.
‘Remember, Devlin and Kirby were present by this time. They decided to mete out some justice of their own on Wyatt. They took turns dunking him in the river.’
Lambert shook his head. He didn’t condone the behaviour, was surprised Tillman had let them get away with it. It was pointless to ask why Wyatt hadn’t mentioned it during the trial. With two dead women it was unlikely his story would be believed. ‘There’s more?’
‘It went too far. Alice was out cold. Devlin and Kirby wanted to end it.’
‘End it?’
Hogg struggled to maintain eye contact with him. ‘They wanted to kill Wyatt, to blame it on the struggle when they’d pulled him off Alice. It was dark and secluded. There were no witnesses.’
‘Tillman stopped them?’
‘He did, but he told me he wasn't sure he’d made the right decision.’
5
Lambert wasn’t sure he believed what Hogg was trying to tell him. Why hadn’t Tillman mentioned any of this before? Lambert could understand a desire to protect his former colleagues, but if what Hogg said was true - that Devlin and Kirby really had tried to kill Wyatt - then it gave the former convict an extra motive to exact revenge on the men.
