Dead Embers

by Matt Brolly

  Frustrated, he snapped his laptop shut and made an early breakfast. An answer hovered just out of reach, a connection between everyone and everything involved in the case.

  After breakfast, he was surprised by an onrush of tiredness. He lay on the sofa and closed his eyes, doubting he would sleep but hoping an explanation would come to mind. For the second time in the last few hours, his eyelids became heavy. This time, no lights flicked before him and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

  Sometime later daylight flooded his flat. Lambert shielded his eyes as he grew accustomed to his surroundings. Somehow it was seven am: he’d slept for a further four hours, which was almost unheard of. He glanced at his phone, noticing a voicemail notification on the screen.

  On first listen, he struggled to make out the caller. The woman’s voice was laced with emotion. Her words were almost unintelligible, interspersed with sobs and guttural, animal-like noises.

  Lambert played the message again. The voice belonged to Gladys Hodge. It was a confession, and one that made for difficult listening. It ended with a flash of clarity as Gladys composed herself, and shared with Lambert that she had a contact number for her son.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lambert reclined on the sofa, sipping his coffee, and listened to the message again. Behind the high-pitched voice laden with tears, Gladys Hodge was rambling. She had been lying, but Lambert could forgive her that.

  Lambert determined Gladys had spent the night unable to sleep, thinking about the horrible things Lambert had accused her son of doing. Contradicting what she’d said yesterday, she told Lambert her son had paid her a visit earlier in the month, for the first time in over a year. The rest of the message was indecipherable, but she ended it by telling Lambert she had the contact number.

  Lambert showered, taking his coffee with him into the small cubicle. It was important not to get carried away but this felt like the breakthrough he’d been waiting for. He called Matilda before changing, instructing her to meet him at Hodge’s care home along with the Tech team who would have a phone number they needed to trace.

  Outside, ice blanketed his car. He switched on the ignition and the heaters, staring blankly ahead as the windscreen gradually cleared. It must have taken a lot for Gladys to have made the call. From their short time together, Lambert had noted the woman’s sharp intelligence. He could only imagine what being trapped in the isolation of the care home must be like for her. With her husband dead and her son AWOL, it was remarkable she’d kept her wits about her. Her message on his phone had sounded genuine. It was clear she was in a quandary. She didn’t wish to betray Trevor but deep down she knew what he was capable of.

  Lambert stopped at a petrol station and grabbed a copy of Mia Helmer’s newspaper. He was dismayed, though not surprised, to see the case was front page news. He skimmed the article back in his car before driving off. Helmer had kept her promise and had revealed that the two bodies found in Chislehurst didn’t belong to Caroline and Marcus Jardine. It was a distraction he could do without, and he threw the paper onto the passenger seat and tried not to think about it.

  At the care home, he made two circuits of the area, searching for the black saloon which belonged to the AC officer Duggan. Confident the car was not in sight, he pulled into the care home’s car park, noting the patrol car was different from the one last night. He parked up and knocked on the passenger side window, receiving a confused, borderline angry, look from the uniformed officer within. Lambert waited for the female officer to wind down her window before displaying his warrant card.

  ‘Sorry, sir, WPC Hoskins. This is PC Wynn,’ she said, pointing to the male officer behind the wheel who looked at least twice her age.

  ‘What time did you guys come on shift?’ asked Lambert, buttoning up his jacket, the bitter air of the winter morning yet to abate.

  ‘About forty minutes ago,’ said Wynn, over his colleague.

  Lambert noticed a flask of steaming coffee on the driver’s side and regretted not making one himself.

  ‘Did the night team have anything to report?’

  ‘No, sir,’ said the WPC.

  Lambert explained the situation and instructed the officers to keep an eye on the perimeter of the care home. He didn’t mention Duggan by name, but told the officers to be on the lookout for a black saloon car.

  ‘Do you have a number plate, sir?’ asked the WPC.

  ‘No,’ said Lambert, deciding not to share the information.

  * * *

  Lambert returned to his car and waited for Matilda and the team to arrive. He drummed his fingers on the dashboard, desperate to get going. Every minute they waited put Caroline and Marcus Jardine’s lives at risk.

  Impatient, he left the car again, receiving a curious look from the patrol team. He walked to the front of the care home glancing down the street for a sign of Matilda. ‘Where are you?’ he mouthed to himself, looking accusingly at each passing car.

  In the end he gave in and entered the care home. The manager he’d met the other day, Parsons, was not on duty. In her stead was a male receptionist wearing jeans and a white T-shirt as if it was the height of summer. ‘Can I help you?’ said the man.

  A bead of sweat trickled down Lambert’s forehead, the interior of the care home stifling hot in comparison to outside.

  ‘DCI Lambert. I’m here to see Gladys Hodge.’

  ‘You’re a bit early for visiting hours,’ said the man, surprising Lambert with his high-pitched voice.

  ‘It’s a police matter. My colleagues will be here shortly,’ said Lambert, taking a step towards the man who stood frozen on the spot as if guilty of some undeclared crime.

  ‘I think Mrs Hodge is in the dining room eating breakfast. You wait here, I’ll find out where she is for you.’

  Lambert nodded and took a seat on one of the vinyl-backed chairs in the reception area. He’d been waiting five minutes when Matilda arrived flanked by three colleagues carrying heavy looking briefcases.

  ‘Take a seat,’ said Lambert, ‘I believe we’re waiting for Mrs Hodge to finish breakfast.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The white-shirted receptionist returned a few minutes later, doing a double take at the sight of the officers. ‘Mrs Hodge has finished her breakfast. Maybe you should use the office, as there are so many of you?’

  Lambert nodded and instructed the Tech team to follow the receptionist into the office.

  ‘I’d like to see Mrs Hodge in her room first,’ he said to the man.

  ‘OK, wait there. I’ll get one of the nurses to take you up.’

  ‘That’s fine, we know the way.’ Matilda accompanied him upstairs to the room and knocked on the door.

  Mrs Hodge opened it within seconds, a look of accusation on her wrinkled face. ‘It didn’t take you long,’ she said.

  ‘May we come in?’ said Lambert, introducing Matilda.

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Gladys. ‘Come through.’

  They sat on the cloth-bound armchairs which were at least more comfortable than the plastic chairs in the waiting room.

  ‘Thank you for the call this morning, Mrs Hodge. I know it must have taken a lot,’ said Lambert.

  ‘More than you’ll ever know.’

  Mrs Hodge eyes were bloodshot, as if she’d either been up all night or crying. She wore a thick woollen cardigan over a faded patterned dress. ‘More than you’ll ever know,’ she repeated.

  ‘Gladys, just for the benefit of my colleague, please can you repeat what you said on your voicemail message to me?’

  Gladys sighed, a lifetime of regret in the sound. ‘I told you Trevor had come to see me a few days ago now.’

  ‘Can you remember which day exactly?’ said Matilda.

  Gladys looked heavenwards, as if an answer could be found above. ‘Monday,’ she said. ‘Monday before last.’

  ‘And how was he?’ asked Lambert.

  Gladys shook her head, suggesting the question was ridiculous. ‘He was all over the pla
ce. Couldn’t sit still. Of course, I hadn’t seen him for two years. He looked slimmer than I remembered, malnourished, but his behaviour reminded me of something. He always used to behave this way before…’

  ‘Before?’ said Matilda, softly.

  ‘You know what I’m on about. Before he’d set a fire.’

  ‘You remember him behaving this way before?’ said Lambert.

  ‘It started after his father’s death. He was like it for days on end. Something I’d never seen in him before. Permanently on edge, agitated. It took me some time to put two and two together. Of course, at the time I didn’t know what he was up to. But after the third or fourth incident, I realised Leonard’s death consumed him and the only way he could control it was by setting fire to something.’

  The timing correlated with the incident at Chislehurst, being only a few days before the fire which had torn through the Jardines’ house.

  ‘And what did he say to you when he visited?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘He wasn’t making much sense but he said he was in trouble.’

  Lambert looked at Matilda. ‘In trouble how?’

  ‘He said he’d done something that he didn’t want to do, that they’d changed the rules. He didn’t elaborate but I had the sense…’ said Gladys, her voice becoming trapped in her throat. ‘Sorry,’ she said, trying to fight the tears rolling from her eyes. ‘I had a feeling this was the last time he was ever going to visit me.’

  A knock on the door broke the atmosphere.

  ‘We’re ready now,’ said one of the Tech team.

  ‘OK, give us a few minutes,’ said Lambert. ‘Gladys, I need you to do something for us. I need you to call your son.’

  Gladys rocked in her chair, not answering. ‘What do you want me to say to him?’

  ‘What would you normally talk to him about?’ asked Matilda.

  ‘I wouldn’t normally talk to him about anything,’ said Gladys, raising her voice and staring at Matilda as if she was stupid. ‘When he came the other day, it was the first time I’d seen him in two years. We don’t usually spend much time on the phone together.’

  ‘Why do you think he gave you his number?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘I truly don’t know. He said only to call in an emergency.’

  ‘We just need you to keep him talking,’ said Lambert. ‘Tell him you’ve been thinking about what he said and that you want to speak to him. Tell him you have some things you need to tell him face to face.’

  ‘This is my son we’re talking about,’ said Gladys, turning her accusatory tone to Lambert.

  ‘I appreciate that, but people are in danger, Gladys. I think you understand that. I think that’s why you called me.’

  * * *

  Matilda guided Gladys downstairs to the office which the receptionist had let them use.

  ‘I’m not sure about this,’ Gladys said to Matilda, sounding older and frailer than before.

  Lambert didn’t buy the act, but Matilda placated her. ‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Gladys, but as we agreed upstairs I think you know this is for the best,’ she said.

  ‘What will you do to him if you find him?’

  ‘We just want to talk to him,’ said Matilda. ‘He’s a danger to himself as much as he is to anyone else.’

  By the time they’d reached the office, one of the Tech team, Robertson, had already checked the mobile number Gladys had given them.

  ‘It looks like a burner phone,’ he said to Lambert. ‘No registered name or address.’

  ‘You’ll be able to trace the location, though?’ said Lambert, momentarily worried he’d been wasting his time.

  ‘If we get an answer and get him talking long enough,’ said Robertson, with a resigned look which suggested he’d experienced at least as many failures in his time as successes.

  ‘Take a seat, Gladys,’ said Matilda, ushering the woman to a leather armchair behind the desk. ‘We’re going to dial the number for you. When I nod my head I want you to speak.’

  Gladys glanced around the room as if about to change her mind, but Matilda kept her hand on her shoulder, reassuring the woman.

  Lambert nodded to Robertson and pressed the switch on the tracking device.

  ‘It’s ringing,’ he said.

  The dial tone of the Fireman’s mobile played out in the quiet of the room. Lambert hugged himself, the overpowering heat of Gladys’s bedroom having given way to the unheated confines of the office. His heart picked up in tempo, thundering in his chest.

  The line clicked and a voice spoke. ‘Hello?’

  Trevor Hodge’s voice was weaker than Lambert had imagined. Maybe he was reading too much into it, but the simple word ‘hello’ made the Fireman sound lost.

  Gladys furrowed her forehead and stared at Matilda, confused by what was happening.

  Matilda leant towards her and mouthed the word, ‘Hello.’

  Gladys mimicked the sound, sounding as confused and lost as her son.

  ‘Mum, is that you? I told you only to call in an emergency.’

  ‘It’s good to hear you, Trevor,’ said Gladys, authority returning to her voice.

  ‘It’s good to hear you as well, Mum, but now’s not a good time.’

  Nothing in the manner of the son’s speech changed Lambert’s impression of him. He sounded scared and out of control. It was difficult for Lambert to believe the man they were speaking to was responsible for the atrocities at the Jardine house.

  Gladys shrugged her shoulders. ‘This is important, son. I need to see you.’

  ‘I saw you only the other week. You know I’m busy, Mum.’

  ‘I know, son, but I have something important to tell you.’

  ‘Can’t you tell me now, over the phone?’

  ‘It’s not something I can say by phone.’

  Matilda glanced at Lambert as the line went silent. Already Gladys had proved invaluable.

  ‘Please, Mum, now is not a good time.’

  Robertson glanced away from his equipment and gave Lambert a thumbs up. Gladys noticed the gesture. ‘What have you done, Trevor?’ she said, tears welling in her eyes.

  Lambert swore to himself and tore the mobile phone off speakerphone.

  ‘Trevor, this is DCI Lambert. We know about the fire at the Jardines’ house and the explosion yesterday at your property. Trevor, I need your help. Do you know the whereabouts of Caroline and Marcus Jardine?’

  Lambert wanted to scream into the phone, demand Hodge tell him but it wasn’t the smart approach. ‘I can help you, Trevor. I know you didn’t want it to go this far but it’s not too late. Tell us where they are and we can help you.’

  Gladys began sobbing and Matilda guided her from the room.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Trevor.

  ‘Are they alive?’ asked Lambert. Still talking to the Fireman, he left the office followed by Robertson and the other two tech guys. He summoned Matilda with a curl of his index finger.

  ‘Who were you working for, Trevor? We know you didn’t want to do this, Trevor. Tell us where they are and we can help. Where are they, Trevor?’ he repeated, hoping the location on Robertson’s iPad was not too far and that Hodge was speaking from wherever he was holding the Jardines captive.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ said Hodge, his voice rising to a crescendo.

  ‘What wasn’t your fault?’ said Lambert.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ repeated the high-pitched voice.

  ‘Calm down, Trevor. Just tell me, what wasn’t your fault?’

  Lambert heard sobbing; deep, uncontrollable sobs like an infant mid-tantrum.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ said Hodge for a third time. ‘The man. The man slipped. He died,’ he said, hanging up.

  Chapter Thirty

  Matilda was reluctant to leave Gladys Hodge at the scene, but Lambert forced her hand. He nodded his head to one of the uniformed police officers, the WPC he’d spoken to earlier, and instructed her to stay with Gladys. Now was no time for sentiment
. Like Matilda, he’d sensed the conflict in Gladys’ exchange with her son but he had greater concerns than Gladys’ feelings at the moment.

  Lambert drove with Matilda navigating. Behind them the Tech guys followed, both cars with sirens blazing. Matilda called Bickland and told him to get the team to the site. As he drove, Lambert tried not to think of the time they’d wasted when the Fireman had been in Chislehurst all this time.

  ‘What do we know about the building?’ Lambert asked as he crawled through the stationary traffic.

  ‘It appears to be a block of flats,’ said Matilda, glancing at the picture she’d uploaded from Google Maps.

  ‘Do we still have the signal?’

  ‘At the moment. He either doesn’t realise we’ve traced him or he’s left the building and his phone behind.’

  Lambert replayed the mother-and-son conversation as he drove towards the location the Fireman had called from. He was still surprised by the tone of Trevor Hodge’s voice. Maybe it had been the shock of talking to his mother again, but the man he’d heard was far from the secure and focused individual Lambert had envisaged. An air of insecurity, even fear, had cloaked every word. Did he fear retribution? He’d told his mother he’d been told to do something he didn’t want to. Had that been eliminating Caroline and Marcus Jardine? It would go some way towards explaining the switch of bodies at the scene. It would also explain his nervousness now, and the sound of genuine remorse at Marcus Jardine’s supposed death.

  The car in front refused to give way. Unlike the others which had pulled to the side, this vehicle, a decrepit red Mini, ambled along, blocking his path, seemingly unaware of the wailing sirens behind.

  ‘What’s this guy’s problem?’ said Lambert, blaring his horn as if the extra noise would make a difference.

  ‘Looks like he’s wearing earphones,’ said Matilda, shaking her head.

  ‘Right,’ said Lambert, pulling out into the oncoming traffic.