Dead Embers

by Matt Brolly

  ‘Your very best,’ said Tillman.

  * * *

  Lambert spent the time waiting for Linklater in the incident room, researching Caroline Jardine online. At the age of thirty-eight, Jardine was a well-respected officer in her team. The woman had clearly been going places and Lambert’s initial impression was that her death would be met with deep regret across the force. Her most recent investigation had been a long-term case on drug trafficking. Her direct superior was DCI William Barnes. Tillman had mentioned that Barnes would be present at his meeting back at the NCA headquarters later that day.

  DS Croft knocked on the glass door of the room, and snuck her head into the opening. ‘Sir, Connor Linklater has arrived. We’ve put him in interview room three. He has his brief with him.’

  ‘Does he now?’ said Lambert, shutting his laptop. ‘He’s aware the interview is voluntary?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  Although attending the station with a solicitor in tow was far from an admission of guilt, it was a strong indication of how Linklater was treating the situation. His ex-wife had been burnt to death, her child barely surviving, and the man’s first thought was to protect himself. It was possible to read too much into the situation, but to Lambert the presence of the solicitor had turned the situation from a general conversation into a confrontation. ‘I’ll be down now,’ he said.

  Croft hesitated by the door. Lambert knew what she was waiting for but was interested to see how she phrased it. ‘How do you want to do this?’ she asked, as casually as possible.

  ‘Where’s Bickland?’

  ‘Waiting downstairs.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Croft. You run the interview with Linklater. Find out where he was last night, what his relationship with his ex-wife was like. I’ll keep quiet until needed.’

  Croft tried to hide her surprise, but Lambert noticed the subtle widening of her eyes. ‘Sir,’ she replied, exiting before Lambert had the chance to change his mind.

  Lambert spoke to Bickland outside the interview room. ‘I want you to watch the interview on camera, Bickland. Analyze Linklater’s responses and let me know if there is anything we miss,’ he said. If the DS took it badly, he hid it well.

  The solicitor stood as Lambert entered the room, introducing his client. Linklater rose to his feet and shook hands with the officers, his face emotionless.

  ‘Thank you for taking the time to come and see us, Mr Linklater,’ said Lambert. ‘This is DS Croft.’

  Linklater nodded as they all sat. Croft placed her case file in front of her and went through the formalities of explaining Linklater’s rights and informing the man that the session would be taped. Linklater remained passive throughout, Lambert unable to ascertain the man’s mental state from the vague visual clues he offered.

  ‘As you know, we believe the bodies of Caroline Jardine and her husband were found in their house this morning. Their deaths are being treated as suspicious.’

  ‘Believe?’ asked Linklater’s solicitor.

  ‘Subject to post-mortem identification,’ said Lambert.

  ‘For the record, please could you confirm your relationship with Mrs Jardine?’ asked Croft.

  ‘She was my ex-wife,’ said Linklater, not hesitating with the past tense.

  Croft played with the papers on the desk. She pinched her nose, hesitating, making Linklater wait. ‘When were you divorced?’ she asked, her voice light as if she was making a casual enquiry.

  ‘Four years ago.’

  Croft maintained her tone. ‘The grounds for divorce?’

  Linklater’s solicitor sighed. ‘Is this really necessary? Surely you already have that information.’

  Croft shot the man a look which suggested the question was entirely necessary and the solicitor nodded to his client.

  ‘Divorce by mutual consent.’

  ‘Official grounds, divorce by mutual consent,’ said Croft, writing in her notebook before looking up at Linklater. ‘However, my records show, Mr Linklater, that we were called out on three separate occasions for domestic disturbance complaints.’

  Lambert admired Croft’s style. She had disarmed the man within minutes of the interview commencing.

  Linklater didn’t share such admiration. ‘What the hell is this?’ he said, getting to his feet.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Linklater,’ said Lambert.

  ‘May I remind you, officers, that Mr Linklater has taken the trouble to make his way to the station as soon as he was asked, to offer his assistance. He is here voluntarily, and has just had some terrible news.’

  ‘Taken the trouble,’ muttered Lambert under his breath. His ex-wife has burnt to death and he takes the trouble to make an appearance. Lambert ignored the solicitor, as Croft defused the situation.

  ‘I apologise if my question is insensitive, Mr Linklater, but we are investigating a potential murder, and there is a prior history of domestic disturbance,’ she said, pausing again, pinching her nose, focusing on Linklater’s solicitor. ‘We can, of course, make this more official but I’m sure you don’t want to go down that route.’

  The solicitor stared back at Croft, trying and failing to take control of the situation. ‘Sit down, Connor,’ he said to Linklater.

  Linklater shook his head, heat spreading across his face. ‘This is ridiculous. Caroline and I used to argue, yes. But that was it. We couldn’t live together. Now we don’t. We have resolved our differences.’

  Croft picked up her papers and leant towards Linklater. ‘On one occasion, our officers had to separate a fight at your house. The same house which has now burnt down.’

  Lambert sensed Linklater’s frustration. His face was flooded with colour, his breathing rapid. He stared at Croft with unmasked hostility.

  ‘That’s quite enough, officer,’ said Linklater’s solicitor, his face mirroring the reddening shade of his client’s. ‘Mr Linklater has never received anything as much as a caution in his lifetime. It is frankly outrageous to make these unfounded accusations.’ The solicitor made a big show of shaking his head. ‘Really, DS Croft, I’m surprised at you. This meeting is over unless you want to charge my client with anything.’

  Croft turned her attention to Linklater. ‘Anything you want to tell us about this?’ she said.

  Linklater’s early antagonism had vanished. ‘We used to fight all the time, it was that sort of relationship, and things occasionally got out of hand,’ he said, his voice thin and weak. ‘But we both gave as good as we got. We had a combative relationship but it wasn’t an abusive one.’

  ‘Where were you yesterday evening between the hours of nine pm and four am?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said the solicitor.

  ‘Answer the question,’ said Lambert.

  ‘I was at home, watching television until about eleven pm, then in bed,’ said Linklater.

  ‘You live alone?’ said Croft.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So no one can corroborate your whereabouts?’

  ‘No, but…’ Linklater’s face contorted into a patchwork of wrinkles. ‘You can’t think I had anything to do with her murder? She was my wife.’

  ‘Ex-wife,’ said Lambert.

  ‘She was once my wife. I would never hurt her.’

  Croft juggled the papers on her desk once more. Lambert was impressed by the pacing of the interview, the way Croft was asking the bare minimum, allowing Linklater to fill in the spaces. ‘You and Mrs Jardine didn’t have children?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘How did you feel when she had Teresa?’

  Linklater sighed, an air of belligerence returning. ‘It meant nothing to me, why would it?’

  ‘She was your ex-wife. She’d had a child with another man. You wouldn’t be human if that didn’t affect you in some way.’

  ‘Maybe I’m not human then,’ said Linklater, sounding like a child arguing in a playground.

  ‘Did you and Mrs Jardine ever try for children?’ asked Croft.

  ‘DS C
roft, this is sounding more and more like an interrogation,’ said the solicitor. ‘May I remind you, once again, that my client is here voluntarily?’

  Croft held her hands up. ‘Of course, my apologies. Before you go, Mr Linklater, can you think of anyone who would want to hurt Ms Jardine in any way?’

  ‘You think she was deliberately targeted?’ said Linklater.

  ‘We can’t rule anything out at the moment.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that. Her husband, on the other hand – I can imagine quite a few people wanted him dead.’

  * * *

  Croft escorted Linklater and his solicitor out of the station whilst Lambert made his way to the video room to see Bickland. ‘What do we know about Marcus Jardine?’ he said, before Bickland had opened his mouth.

  ‘Not much more than we did this morning. Our focus has been on DI Jardine,’ said Bickland.

  ‘Drop everything and work on that. Usual stuff. Enemies. Who wanted him dead.’

  ‘He was a banker, everyone wanted him dead,’ said Bickland.

  ‘Go to his place of work first, start with his most senior colleagues and work your way down.’

  ‘Great. Fun day at the bank,’ said Bickland, full of sarcasm as he left the room.

  Another man entered. Better dressed than Bickland, the man held himself with a confidence that suggested he was a high-ranking officer. ‘Lambert?’ said the man, confirming Lambert’s theory. Only someone on or above Lambert’s pay scale would call him by his surname.

  ‘You have me at a disadvantage,’ said Lambert.

  The man rubbed his right hand across his face before offering it to Lambert. ‘DCI Thomas Mills, pleased to meet you.’

  Lambert placed Mills’ accent as Mancunian. From his tone, it was clear that his fellow DCI was anything but pleased to see him. ‘You’re Croft’s governor?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I was told you’d signed off on her working on this case?’ Lambert doubted this was what was bothering the man, but he wanted to avert any potential confrontation as early as possible.

  Mills turned towards him, his hand rubbing his face once more. ‘You know it has nothing to do with that. I don’t care about losing Croft.’

  Lambert took a deep breath. ‘I realise this isn’t an ideal situation, Mills; the decision was made above both of us.’ Lambert understood his colleague’s frustration. The Jardine case was potentially the case of a lifetime, a high profile murder which would have national press coverage. The murder had taken place on Mills’ patch, and here was Lambert strolling in from the NCA, taking everything over. If the roles had been reversed, he would have probably been less cordial than his fellow officer.

  Mills nodded his head and rubbed his face. Lambert sighed, and gave him one more chance. ‘I don’t want to patronise you, Mills. I’ve been in your position before and it’s bloody annoying. But the truth is, I need your cooperation on this. I’m happy to call it a joint operation and to work fully with your team. Technically I’ll still be SIO, that’s not going to change, but I’m happy to share the credit equally with you and your team.’ It was the most he could offer.

  ‘That’s big of you,’ said Mills, his northern accent guttural.

  Lambert turned his palms up. ‘I don’t want to sound like a wanker, Mills, but it’s take it or leave it. I would rather do this with your support, but I will work without you if I have to.’

  It was Mills’ turn to sigh. ‘I’ll supply you a few more bodies,’ he said, meeting Lambert’s gaze.

  Lambert offered his hand, which Mills accepted. ‘Persistent, isn’t she?’ said Lambert.

  ‘Croft? You could say that,’ said Mills, a grimace forming on his face, replaced swiftly by a smile.

  Chapter Six

  Tillman was nowhere to be found by the time Lambert reached HQ. It had taken Lambert two hours to drive from Chislehurst. He’d spent the time stuck in traffic, the image of Teresa Jardine lost and scared in her room, calling for help as the heat crept towards her, replaying over and over in his head. Would she have had any idea what danger she was in?

  Lambert went to his desk and uploaded the System. The System was an amalgamation of various police databases, with access to the majority of social media back ends. The legality of the System was clouded – to say the least – and only members of Tillman’s section currently had access to it. Once in, he began a search on recent arson attacks in Greater London. As he searched the incidents, which were numerous, his mind kept wandering: back to Teresa, and then on to his own daughter, Chloe. Chloe had died during a road accident – Lambert had been driving. Although he’d been told she’d died instantly, it had always troubled him that she’d suffered; that her final moments had been all alone, pleading for his help whilst he ignored her.

  ‘You made it, then,’ said Tillman, waking him from his reverie.

  ‘I made it?’ said Lambert, the full weight of the day’s events hitting him.

  Tillman fidgeted with his tie. ‘They’ve arrived. Waiting in the conference room.’

  Lambert wiped his eyes. ‘Who have arrived, Glenn?’

  ‘Everyone. Follow me.’

  * * *

  No one stood as Lambert followed Tillman into the conference room. Lambert recognised two of the four men in the room: the Chief Constable, Alexander Mitchell, and the Assistant Chief Constable Thomas Daly. One of the others – a tall, sullen-looking man – he presumed was DCI Barnes, Caroline Jardine’s boss. A fourth man sat at the head of the table. Round of face, he had a full head of silver-grey hair. Lambert recognised the face but couldn’t place him. ‘DCI Lambert, please take a seat,’ said the man, staring straight ahead.

  Lambert took a seat towards the centre, Tillman sitting next to him.

  ‘My name is John Weaver,’ said the silver-haired man. ‘I’m sure you’re aware that I am the Minister of State for Policing, Fire and Criminal Justice.’ Weaver paused, gauging Lambert’s response. It was all Lambert could do not to shrug his shoulders.

  ‘Anyway,’ continued Weaver, pursing his lips. ‘I believe you know the Chief and Assistant Chief Constable.’

  Lambert nodded to the two senior officers. ‘Sir. Sir.’

  ‘This is DCI William Barnes,’ said Weaver, pointing to the other man in the room, who nodded. ‘Obviously, we are to discuss the Jardine case. As you can imagine, the case is highly sensitive.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Lambert.

  Weaver pursed his lips once more as if he had something stuck between his teeth. ‘Terrible business, naturally. As you can appreciate, the death of such a prominent member of the police force, in such a horrendous manner, can have many repercussions.’

  ‘Such as?’ said Lambert, turning to Tillman, who was uncharacteristically silent.

  ‘Imagine the panic when word spreads that a high-ranking officer was murdered in her own house. “If it can happen to DI Caroline Jardine, then surely it could happen to anyone,” will be the general consensus.’

  ‘It is of concern, but I’m not sure it would cause an out-and-out panic?’

  ‘Semantics, DCI Lambert.’ Weaver paused, exchanging looks with the Chief and Assistant Chief. ‘I was emailed this earlier,’ he said, pushing some paper towards Lambert. ‘I think you know the journalist,’ said Weaver, as Lambert saw Mia Helmer’s name.

  The newspaper had the following day’s date on it. The headline read, ‘Senior Policewoman Dead in Arson Attack.’

  ‘I see,’ said Lambert.

  ‘Do read further,’ said Weaver.

  Lambert saw his name in the text of the article. At one point he was referred to as the man who’d solved the Souljacker and Watcher serial killer cases. Later, he was referred to as being “constantly at odds” with his superiors. His relationship with the journalist had been destroyed during the Watcher case. He’d come close to arresting her when he’d found her snooping at a victim’s house, and following his dismissal of her earlier that day it seemed clear that she was n
ot the forgiving sort.

  Lambert pushed the papers back towards the MP. ‘I don’t see the problem, I’m afraid.’

  Weaver’s face contorted as if in shock. ‘Don’t you, DCI Lambert?’ he said, looking at the two most senior officers in the room for reassurance.

  The Assistant Chief, Daly, leant forward. ‘I think what Mr Weaver is getting at is that this is a bit of a PR disaster for the government,’ he said.

  ‘Not quite,’ interjected Weaver, his tone borderline angry. ‘What I’m saying is that sometimes it is worth keeping on the right side of the press. Miss Helmer’s paper does have a certain impact and it can affect public confidence, rightly so, when they think a senior police officer can be a victim of such an atrocity.’

  ‘Can you talk to her, Lambert?’ asked the Assistant Chief.

  Lambert held his tongue.

  ‘Good, good,’ said Weaver, taking Lambert’s silence as an agreement. ‘We realise this is a very awkward situation. The three of us,’ said Weaver – again looking at the Chief and Assistant Chief – ‘feel it’s best that we find those responsible as quickly as possible. Put the public’s mind at rest, as it were.’

  Even the Chief Constable frowned at this last statement.

  Lambert was staggered that he’d been called in to hear such platitudes. He had no intention of speaking to Helmer, but to be told he should solve the case as quickly as possible was offensive. He wanted to ask what the hell else Weaver thought he would be doing, but again held his tongue. ‘I presume there is some sort of reporting structure you want me to adhere to,’ he said, turning his attention to the Chief Constable.

  It was the Assistant Chief, Daly, who answered. ‘Yes, everything must go directly through me, as well as through Chief Superintendent Tillman.’

  Lambert shook his head. ‘That is practically the process anyway. You would have access to everything anyway, sir,’ he said to Daly.

  ‘I mean everything, Lambert. You were assigned this role because of your expertise, but we can’t miss anything on this. Every step you make must be accounted for. Every step. Do I make myself clear?’ Weaver pursed his lips again as they waited for Lambert to answer.