Dead Lucky

by Matt Brolly

  ‘When do your newspapers come in?’ he asked the person behind the counter.

  ‘First thing in the morning.’

  ‘Do you not get another batch in at any time?’

  The boy looked over to a woman who Lambert presumed was the boy’s mother. She turned and smiled at Lambert. ‘Can I help?’ she said.

  ‘Do you know if there are any later editions of this newspaper?’

  ‘Not with us, I’m afraid. I think you may find later editions at the train station.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Outside, Lambert began running. He supposed he may have been able to find the story online if it existed but he wanted to see the print edition. He sped past shocked onlookers, running along the embankment until he reached Charing Cross Station.

  He found a second newsagent and immediately spotted the paper. The headline on the cover was a different front page to the one he’d just seen:

  Dead Lucky ran the headline.

  Family Killer Strikes Terror in Central London, Reported by Senior Crime Editor, Mia Helmer.

  Lambert grabbed the paper and cursed, walking out of the newsagents without paying. The story listed the murders of Moira Sackville, Laura Dempsey’s husband and children, and her parents, Mr and Mrs Pratchett. Apparently, Laura Dempsey was the lucky one for having escaped the killer. Lambert knew only too well that there were worse things than dying.

  Helmer had gone back on her promise. Lambert skimmed through the three pages the paper had given over to the story. He absorbed the vague details and theories put forward by the journalist, until he reached the part he was sure had triggered the killer’s indignation. It appeared Mia Helmer had approached a so-called serial killer expert from the USA. Graham Milestone was reported to be a former FBI profiler and given the imprecise details from Mia on the recent murders had formulated a profile of the killer. Milestone suggested the killer was male, middle-aged, desperately lonely and in need of attention. It was standard stuff, something any criminology graduate could have come up with.

  The article continued to state that the killer enjoyed watching his victims die. The paper had even given the killer an uninspired nickname, the Watcher. The profiler had his theories on this as well. One line in particular captured Lambert’s eye. ‘It was possible the killer suffered abuse from a family member as a child.’ Lambert scrunched the paper together and swore out loud, startling an elderly woman who’d been walking by him at the time.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, understanding what had got the killer so agitated. He only hoped it hadn’t prompted him into speeding up his process.

  Chapter 27

  Lambert looked more agitated than normal. He handed her a newspaper and said, ‘Did you know about this?’

  Matilda took the paper and unfolded it, Lambert having scrunched it into a ball. She saw the headline on the front and guessed the rest.

  ‘Helmer?’ she asked.

  ‘I want to see her first thing tomorrow,’ said Lambert. ‘What do you know about this profiling guy?’

  Matilda carried on reading, trying to catch up with Lambert. She read to the part about the profiler and his rather obvious observations about the killer, now nicknamed the Watcher. ‘Never heard of him. I’ll run some checks.’

  Lambert ignored her and clapped his hands. A hush descended over the incident room. ‘For those of you who haven’t done so, read the article by Mia Helmer. Helmer is Eustace Sackville’s editor. She’s just released a puff piece on the killer.’

  A muttering of confusion filled the air, which Lambert cut short. ‘I’ll be speaking to Helmer first thing in the morning. The gist of it is that Helmer has accused the killer of being a victim of abuse. What effect this will have on the killer is unknown but we need to be prepared. The assumption is possibly correct, but the killer may not like it being public knowledge.’

  Matilda surveyed her colleagues, noting the occasional look of doubt on some of their faces. If Lambert noticed, as she was sure he had, he chose not to mention it.

  ‘We can forget DC Harrogate’s objection at the moment. I want a closer look at all Blake’s employees, present and past. We can’t quiz them yet but if you find any link between them and Sackville or Dempsey, however minor, flag it up immediately.’

  Matilda saw how impatient Lambert was as everyone read back their reports. It was past eight o’clock and they were all due at the local bar where DS Sherwood was having his leaving drinks after thirty years on the force. Matilda knew Lambert didn’t care about that. It was as if he was waiting for something else to happen on the case, something he could latch onto.

  ‘Everyone back at seven a.m.,’ he said, to a chorus of disapproval. ‘And don’t go crazy tonight,’ he warned, like an overzealous parent.

  ‘What’s got into him?’ said Walker, sidling over to her after Lambert had left.

  ‘He’s just keen for a breakthrough, as you should be,’ said Matilda, packing her belongings and moving away.

  The party was already in full swing by the time she arrived. She was surprised to see Lambert was already there. She’d presumed he’d gone home. He was at the bar sipping on a beaker of whisky, talking to Tillman who did his usual impeccable job of ignoring her.

  She walked to the bar metres away from the pair of them and ordered herself a pint of lager.

  ‘Oh get us one, Tilly.’ It was Rebecca Shah, one of the DCs Matilda was friendly with.

  ‘You made an effort,’ she said, ordering Shah a drink. They found a corner of the bar and clinked glasses together.

  Shah was in her civvies, her face made up. Matilda felt a bit frumpy in comparison. She was still in the same clothes she’d worn all day, decades old jeans, light blouse and cardigan. The closest her face had come to make up was a splash of cold water in the toilets before leaving.

  ‘I’m on a bit of a promise,’ said Shah, giggling into her pint.

  ‘Who’s the lucky lad?’ said Matilda, nodding her head to a group of Shah’s colleagues at the other end of the bar.

  ‘You’re kidding aren’t you? I wouldn’t touch anyone in here with your hands. No, I’ve gone upmarket this time. A lawyer no less.’

  ‘Look at you,’ said Matilda. ‘Is he coming here?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I’m really going to let him come here in a room full of coppers. I’m meeting him later. Have a few drinks with you guys then I’m going to head off.’

  ‘I’m probably going to do the same,’ said Matilda, feeling the tiredness seep through her.

  ‘What about you? Seeing anyone at the moment?’ said Shah.

  ‘No time for such frivolities,’ said Matilda, knowing the truth would not only shock the young constable but might result in her not speaking to her again.

  ‘What can I get you ladies?’ said Walker, approaching them.

  Matilda couldn’t help but display her distaste, and noticed Shah had picked up on it. ‘Nothing for us, thanks,’ said Shah.

  ‘I think Matilda can answer for herself, Becky,’ said Walker. He’d cleaned up since the incident room, changing into a new shirt, his hair gelled back, slick like a parody of an Italian gangster, his thick beard perfect as ever.

  ‘Nothing for me,’ said Matilda.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said Walker and headed towards the bar.

  ‘What was that about?’ said Shah.

  ‘Oh nothing.’

  Shah hesitated. Looking sheepish she said, ‘Have you two…?’

  ‘God, no,’ said Matilda.

  Shah took a long drink. ‘Does he want to?’

  ‘He’s only human,’ said Matilda, laughing.

  ‘I’m afraid I may have…’ said Shah.

  ‘You and Walker? When?’

  ‘Couple of years back now, when I’d just joined. Naive and foolish. It was just a night.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean anything when I said…’

  ‘No, you’re right,’ said Shah. ‘You’re best clear of him.’

  ‘Let me get us some more drinks.’<
br />
  ‘My round,’ said Shah.

  Walker approached her as Shah was at the bar. ‘She’s a pretty one.’

  Matilda sighed. ‘Don’t you see enough of me in the daytime? The room is full of people, why don’t you go and pester someone else?’ From the corner of her eye Matilda saw Tillman glance over, quickly diverting his attention when he knew he’d been caught looking.

  ‘Just being friendly, Tilly. Jesus.’

  It was the first time he’d ever used that name for her. It was a name only her closest friends called her and she didn’t like him using it. ‘Kennedy will be fine.’

  Shah returned with the drinks, placing her shoulder in between her and Walker. The three of them stood in silence for a second before Walker finally took the hint and moved off.

  ‘He was like this with me. Just wouldn’t take no for an answer,’ said Shah. ‘I was flattered at the time but now I know he’s like this with lots of people.’

  Matilda had heard the rumours.

  ‘He’s clever, mind you. Never quite steps over the line.’

  Matilda took a sip of her drink. ‘Enough talk about that twat. Tell me more about this mysterious lawyer of yours.’

  She ended up staying longer than planned. Shah left for her date sometime around nine and Matilda spent the next two hours moving from conversation to conversation, most of the talk focusing on work and the retiring sergeant’s notorious libido. At closing time she found herself deep in conversation with Devlin. She felt quite lightheaded, despite pacing herself through the evening.

  ‘It’s great being part of this team. I feel really lucky,’ said Devlin. Matilda stared at the bar light above the constable’s head as he talked, the bulb shining down on his hair, highlighting his prematurely balding scalp.

  ‘Working under DCI Lambert is a real privilege,’ continued Devlin.

  ‘Oh I agree,’ said Matilda. ‘One for the road?’

  Devlin shrugged and wobbled, and had to use the bar to regain his balance. ‘We shouldn’t really,’ he said.

  ‘Two G&Ts,’ Matilda shouted to the barman.

  ‘We’re closed,’ said the barman, a man of indecipherable age.

  ‘Come on, George. It’s for me,’ said Matilda.

  The barman shook his head but poured the drinks anyway. Devlin excused himself and stumbled to the bathrooms. Matilda scanned the thinning crowd and smiled as she saw that Tillman was still there talking to some senior busybody from the murder squad.

  She wiped the smile off her face quickly and returned to her drink, downing the gin and tonic. It was a mistake. The alcohol was having a greater effect on her than normal.

  ‘I think you’ve had enough, DS Kennedy,’ said the barman.

  ‘I think you’ve had enough,’ replied Matilda, noticing her own slurred voice pattern.

  George put both arms onto the bar and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I need some air,’ said Matilda.

  ‘Shall I order you a taxi?’

  Matilda shook her head, too tired to speak any further. The next thing she knew, she was outside but couldn’t remember getting there. Her arm was stuck out, hailing every passing car as if it was a taxi. This is not good, she thought to herself. She’d be back at work in a few hours and would be nursing the mother of all hangovers. Her head thumped. She bent over and found herself staring at her shoes. Looking to her right, she noticed another pair of shoes. Immaculate black shoes, shined to perfection.

  ‘What do you want, Walker?’ she said, lifting her shoulders, mustering every ounce of will she had to sober up.

  ‘Just checking you’re okay,’ said Walker, sounding plausibly genuine. ‘You look a bit wobbly.’

  Matilda looked around her. The bar was shut, locked up, lights switched off. A couple of officers were leant up against the wall smoking. She sighed inwardly, relieved. Then Walker put his arm around her and the anger bubbled up. She shouldn’t have to be relieved to see other police officers. She shouldn’t have to be concerned about one of her colleagues’ intentions. She darted her left shoulder backwards, shrugging off Walker’s arm.

  ‘Get off me,’ she said, through gritted teeth.

  ‘Steady, Tilly,’ said Walker. ‘I’m just checking you’re okay.’ He said the words softly so as not to draw attention to himself.

  ‘Don’t fucking touch me and don’t call me Tilly.’

  ‘Look, if you don’t want my help just say so. I can get a taxi for you. Make sure you get home safely.’

  She was amazed that he had the temerity to think this would work. Even in her drunken state she saw right through him, the fake concern, the soft words and gentle hand gestures. She looked around, dismayed to see the other officers had disappeared. ‘Just go fuck yourself, Walker. Your little tricks won’t work with me.’

  It was enough for the real Walker to reveal himself. The concerned face was replaced by the snarling arrogance she’d always associated him with. ‘What? I’m too low a pay grade for you?’ he said.

  Matilda turned her body to face him. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

  ‘I know things, Tilly,’ he said, emphasising the word Tilly, his head poking forward to hers as if in challenge.

  She resisted the bait. It was impossible that he knew about Tillman, they’d hidden their tracks too well.

  ‘Okay, Walker, whatever. You carry on living in your little dream world. You may have fooled the others but I keep my eyes open and I won’t be scared to let others know.’

  ‘I’ve absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, but that sounded like some sort of threat to me.’

  Matilda was about to respond, was about to tell him everything she’d heard about him, when a voice rang out from nowhere.

  ‘Evening troops,’ came the familiar baritone.

  Walker tensed at the voice, the arrogance vanishing in an instant.

  ‘Sir,’ she said.

  Behind her stood Glenn Tillman, feet wide apart, ready for action.

  Chapter 28

  The incident room was sprinkled with broken bodies slouched on chairs. At least two officers sat with their heads in their hands, everyone’s face was drawn, washed out, and the air conditioning, its gentle hum the only sound in the funeral-like atmosphere, did little to hide the fetid aroma in the room. Lambert slammed his work file on the desk. ‘Who died?’ he asked.

  The team shuffled themselves into position, straightening backs, willing themselves out of their hangovers. Lambert didn’t read the riot act. It was unprofessional, but they had been working full out for some time now and he couldn’t blame them. ‘Right, get over it everyone. We’re back to work now. Save your hangovers for this evening. Where are we, Sergeant?’

  Kennedy raised her head. From the effort, it looked as if it weighed a tonne. Her voice came out as a faint rasp. She took a swig of water and tried again. ‘I have arranged to see Laura Dempsey this morning. As requested,’ she added, with a hint of accusation.

  Lambert nodded. He was battling his own private hangover, though he imagined it was half of what Kennedy was enduring. Lambert had his own plans for the morning which he decided not to share with the team yet. He handed out more duties to the team and finished the meeting before everyone lost interest. ‘Anyone seen Walker?’ he asked before wrapping up.

  The faces were blank. Kennedy had returned her focus to her phone so he couldn’t read her reaction. Lambert remained standing, wondering if something was being hidden from him. In the end he relented. ‘Tell him to see me the second he arrives.’

  Tillman looked little better than the rest of the team. He was sitting behind his desk, nursing a metallic beaker. ‘Late night?’ said Lambert.

  Tillman screwed up his face, a patchwork of wrinkles appearing on his ample face. ‘You could say that. What can I do for you, Lambert?’

  ‘We haven’t had time to talk about DS Harrogate yet, sir,’ said Lambert, taking a seat opposite the man.

  Tillman groaned and sipped the hot liquid in his beaker, l
etting out a satisfied sigh as he placed the drink on the desk. Lambert noticed a slight colouring on Tillman’s knuckles. Tillman caught him looking, and pulled his hand away. ‘What do you want to know about Harrogate?’

  Lambert paused, thought about asking about the knuckle marks and decided against it. ‘I want to know why he is impeding my investigation, and why you are allowing it.’

  Tillman snorted, but Lambert could tell his comment had annoyed him. The old Tillman would never have let this happen. Things had changed since Lambert had left The Group for his enforced sabbatical. Tillman’s powers had been curtailed, and Lambert wanted to press the point. Although it pained his superior, he hoped to provoke a reaction from him so he could get some answers.

  ‘Why am I allowing it?’

  Lambert shrugged his shoulders.

  Tillman placed his elbows on the desk and linked his hands. ‘You always were a manipulative sod, do you know that?’ He rubbed his face, air snorting out of his nose. Lambert sensed an internal power struggle within the man. He’d obviously received orders, but Lambert knew Tillman’s history – and orders were traditionally something which rarely troubled him. ‘I told you when you returned, Lambert, The Group is no more. We don’t have the same powers as before. Harrogate, and those many pay ranks about him have a long standing operation on Blake. It takes precedence.’

  ‘This is you? Glenn Tillman?’

  ‘Steady, Lambert.’

  ‘Well, this is horseshit, sir. Blake’s a major suspect on a series of murders, each more elaborate than the last, and I’m supposed to take a back seat.’

  ‘Get over yourself, Lambert. No one is asking you to take a back seat. As soon as you have something concrete, then you will have my support. Until then, just modify your investigation.’

  ‘Modify.’ It was Lambert’s turn to snort. They sat in silence, broken only by the sound of Tillman lifting his drink and gulping its contents. ‘Does he have someone on the inside?’

  Tillman’s head bobbed up and down as he considered his response. Lambert had been undercover before and knew the drill. It was likely that Harrogate was the undercover officer’s handler. Only a handful of senior officers would know about the officer’s identity. ‘I can’t comment.’