Dead Lucky

by Matt Brolly

  Lambert waited, gave her the space to talk if she wanted, but she drank her tea and went silent. ‘I’m sure the door’s nothing to worry about.’

  Sophie nodded. ‘I know, but thanks for popping over. I really appreciate it. Mum’s made some dinner, you’re welcome to stay if you want.’

  Maybe it was the separation, or his self-pity, but Lambert couldn’t read the signals. He wasn’t sure if she really wanted him there, and didn’t want to overstay his welcome.

  He made a tour of the house, checking the locks on the doors and windows. He even checked the light fittings, ceilings and walls, making a cursory glance for anything out of the ordinary.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ said Sophie again, as she showed him out of the front door. ‘A shame you couldn’t stay.’

  ‘Another time.’

  Lambert took a deep breath and walked over to the unmarked patrol car. ‘When are you due back?’ he asked the officer he’d spoken to earlier.

  ‘We were told to wait here until relieved. We’re past shift time now, but…’

  ‘Okay, give me thirty minutes and I’ll take over,’ said Lambert.

  Stakeouts were boring at the best of times, despite this he still preferred being alone. It was off the clock, and no one knew he was here. He’d bought some provisions from the local supermarket and now it was down to the waiting, without knowing what he was waiting for.

  He read the newspaper, avoiding, to begin with, the pieces on the Watcher. More and more, the press were focused on creating a sense of fear and when he eventually read the pieces he was not surprised. The reporting was completely over the top. With no corroboration, Mia Helmer stated there was no direct link between the victims. Dead Lucky, she repeated. According to her, it was simply down to chance, who was killed and who was left alive. She may as well have said that the Watcher was out there, waiting, and that the whole of London was a potential victim. He scrunched up the newspaper and threw into the back of the car as the streetlights popped into life.

  Lambert studied each person who passed Sophie’s house, deep down knowing the Watcher wouldn’t show his face so readily. Why the hell was he here? He couldn’t justify the cost of other officers being here, but nor could he be here all the time. He wanted the killer to call him, to confirm his suspicions that he had Sophie’s house under surveillance, but his phone refused to ring. He decided now was the time to catch some sleep. He closed his eyes, and tried to banish thoughts of the case by thinking of Sarah May, the only positive part of his life at present. He recalled the time they’d spent together in Bristol, as they both recovered from their ordeal on the Souljacker case. Despite that trauma, his time with her had been the most peaceful he could recall for a very long time. He promised himself he would call her tomorrow. He wanted to make things between them more permanent, and for that to happen he had to offer her something. Though what that was, he wasn’t sure.

  A banging noise on his side window woke him. His hand reached for his expandable baton, as he adjusted to the darkness and the figure peering in at him. ‘Jesus, Kennedy, you trying to give me a heart attack?’

  Kennedy was hopping from foot to foot, two cups of coffee in her hand. Lambert nodded to the passenger seat and Kennedy made her way round. ‘How did you know I was here?’

  Kennedy handed him a cup and placed the other in the cup holder. She hugged herself, swaying from side to side to keep warm. ‘Bloody freezing out there. What happened to Rostron?’

  ‘Rostron?’

  ‘DC Rostron. He was assigned here earlier. Told me he’d seen you here.’

  ‘Did he now?’

  Kennedy took a drink. ‘Something I should know?’

  Lambert smirked. What could he tell her? That the Watcher had been calling him? That he had an absurd worry that his wife and his daughter’s baby sister were being watched as they spoke? In the end, he went as close to the truth as he felt able. ‘It’s possible the back door was broken last night. I’ve called out a locksmith but thought I’d keep an eye on things just in case.’

  ‘You plan to stay here all night?’

  He didn’t think Kennedy fully bought the story, but she wasn’t about to argue with him. ‘A few more hours, yes.’

  ‘Will you be able to stay awake?’

  ‘I will now.’ Kennedy looked tired. It had been a long day for both of them. ‘Go home and get some rest,’ he said.

  ‘I can stay with you. You know, if you want me to.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve got better things to be doing with your time.’ He waited for her to speak, was sure she’d found him to tell him something, probably about Walker and Tillman.

  Kennedy didn’t respond. She sat, staring out into the desolate street.

  It was comforting having her in the car but he couldn’t have them both being tired for the next day. ‘Go get some sleep, Kennedy. We need to see Laura Dempsey after we’ve seen Lindsay. You did well last time. I’m sure we’ll get the answers we need.’

  Kennedy went to say something and checked herself. ‘Sir,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, and Matilda,’ said Lambert, as she was about to close the door.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Thanks for the coffee.’

  Chapter 34

  Lambert didn’t sleep again. He managed to read three quarters of the paperback he’d purchased from the supermarket. He was thankful when he noticed movement from the living room window at six a.m. Sophie had always been an early riser, and he watched her silhouetted figure pull the blinds open. He considered knocking on the door but she would only worry if she knew he’d been outside all evening. Instead, he sent her a text message checking everything was okay which she immediately responded to.

  He left the car and walked to the greasy spoon on Croydon Road, where he used to treat himself now and again when he still lived in the house. The place was already full, labourers getting their carb and protein fill before the long day ahead. Lambert ordered an English breakfast and attempted to concentrate on the newspaper he’d purchased from the newsagent next door. His pulse increased as his mobile rang. He looked at the screen and wasn’t sure if he was pleased or not that it wasn’t a withheld number.

  ‘Lambert.’

  ‘Sir, it’s Walker.’

  Lambert paused, wondered if his day was about to take a turn for the worse before it really began. ‘Walker. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Thought I’d let you know I’m back at work, sir. Eye is much better.’

  Lambert let out a breath. ‘Speak to Devlin, lots to do,’ he said, hanging up.

  After breakfast, he drove into the centre of London. It was not the ideal way to travel but he couldn’t leave the car at Sophie’s. He parked the car in a tiny underground carpark near the Southbank, and crossed the bridge to Charing Cross before making his way to Leicester Square. He took a seat on one of the benches in the square and waited for Kennedy. It had been years since he’d been here. It was quieter than it would be in the evenings, the garish neon lights of the cinemas looking lost and dowdy in the greyness of the day.

  Devlin called to confirm that Walker was back at work. He hadn’t heard the last from Walker. Lambert was sure that he was just waiting for the right time. Walker’s black eye could have nothing to do with Tillman and Kennedy, but if Tillman had hit him, then Lambert was sure Walker would use the incident to his benefit. Walker had a Machiavellian streak, and after the case was over Lambert would make sure that he was moved to a different department. Ideally another location entirely.

  ‘Ah, the bringer of gifts,’ said Lambert, as Kennedy approached carrying another coffee. ‘People will talk if you keep spoiling me like this.’

  ‘Here,’ she said, handing him the cup which was still piping hot. She looked fresher than last night. Her red hair was tied back tight in a bunch, her pale skin unblemished. She wore a patterned scarf around her neck, and a long buttoned winter coat.

  ‘Where are we meeting him?’

  ‘Just over there,’ said Ke
nnedy, pointing to the shop front of a coffee house chain.

  Lindsay appeared twenty minutes later. An elderly man dressed in tweed, he was accompanied by a woman of similar age. He lifted his head straight as introductions were made. The woman was his wife, Eileen. ‘How long will we be?’ he asked, not yet taking a seat.

  ‘Half an hour at most,’ said Kennedy.

  ‘Okay. Half an hour, Eileen,’ he said to his wife and sat at the table.

  ‘Thanks for taking the time to see us,’ said Lambert.

  Lindsay nodded. He carried an air of authority about him which was less to do with age, and more to do with his personality, which Lambert imagined had been shaped by his time on the force. ‘You’re working on this Watcher case?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you want to speak to me about Lennox.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Lindsay, but this is very confidential at the moment. You know how Lennox died?’

  ‘Not until DS Kennedy here called me. I didn’t even know he was dead. You think it was this Watcher fella?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  Lambert saw a flicker in Lindsay’s eyes, a sense of excitement. ‘So what do you need from me?’

  Kennedy opened her iPad. ‘As you’ve probably read, there have been six victims so far, seven if you count Lennox. You okay seeing these?’

  Lindsay frowned and took the iPad from her.

  ‘The first victim was Moira Sackville, wife of Eustace Sackville. Then Laura Dempsey’s husband and two children, and finally Dempsey’s parents, Mr and Mrs Patchett.’

  Lindsay scrolled through the images, with a look of morbid fascination. ‘Sackville and Dempsey were made to watch?’

  Lambert nodded. ‘Laura Dempsey watched her husband and children die, but not her parents.’

  ‘Small mercies, eh?’

  ‘Does this mean anything to you?’

  Lindsay placed the iPad on the counter. ‘No, should it?’

  ‘You never saw anything in your time with Lennox like this?’

  Lindsay squinted his eyes. ‘I’ve seen worse things than this, unfortunately, but I don’t recall such an MO. I know Eustace Sackville, at least I knew him up to twenty or so years ago. He was an over-eager young journalist when I was working with Lennox.’

  ‘Did you have much dealing with him?’

  ‘Not really. He was a bit of a loud mouth, from what I remember. Lennox hated him. Then again, we hated most journos.’

  ‘Ever seen Laura Dempsey before?’ asked Kennedy, finding a more recent shot of Laura on the iPad.

  Lindsay shook his head slowly. ‘It’s possible, but you know how it is. I met thousands of people.’

  Kennedy showed him a picture of a much younger-looking Laura Dempsey. ‘Maiden name was Patchett.’

  Lindsay shook his head again. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘What can you tell us about Lennox? Would you know why anyone would want to harm him this way?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid I do. He wasn’t the nicest of men. He abused his power, and I regret to say I was implicit in that as I often turned a blind eye. I wasn’t one of the boys, you see. They used to tolerate me, but I never joined in their little games.’

  ‘Games?’

  Lindsay stared hard at Lambert. ‘You know what I’m talking about. How long have you been in, twenty years? I imagine it wasn’t so bad then, but you’d have heard what went on before. A crooked cop could sometimes get away with a lot.’

  ‘Such as?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘So Lennox was involved in criminal activity?’

  ‘I’m not going on record about anything, whether that man’s dead or not. Life’s too short. It is now, and it was then. That’s why I got out. I couldn’t see the line any more.’

  ‘You ever hear from Lennox after you left?’

  Lindsay lifted his chin, a sign of defiance. ‘I saw him. He used to pop by now and again, to check up on me. He wanted to see if I would talk, but I’d moved on. I’d met Eileen and we had children. I wasn’t about to jeopardise that.’

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘Long time ago. Probably twenty years. I was only a potential threat for a year or so.’

  ‘One last thing. Did you ever come across a man called Curtis Blake?’

  Kennedy handed him the file picture of Blake.

  Lindsay shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I hate to say it, but I’m an old man now. I never thought I’d say that. My memory isn’t what it was.’

  ‘Okay, Mr Lindsay. Thanks for taking the time to see me.’

  They all stood and shook hands. ‘Look, if it will help, I’ll check through some of my old notebooks. I kept most of them, not sure why. Wife calls me a hoarder. I’ll have a check, see if I can spot any of those names.’

  Eileen was waiting outside. Lambert noticed the concerned look on her face, as Lindsay left the coffee shop. Lindsay grabbed her cheek, and she smiled. He took her hand and they moved into the growing number of tourists.

  The Watcher called as Lambert drove to the hospital. Kennedy had taken her own car so he was alone when he answered the call. It was absurd but it was a relief to hear the man’s voice again. He took a bitter comfort in the knowledge that the man was still out there, even if he had no idea where that was.

  ‘You’ve been busy,’ said the Watcher.

  ‘Busy job,’ said Lambert.

  ‘You’re starting to put things together. It took you some time, but congratulations.’

  Lambert had two options. He could ignore everything the man said, or play along with him. He chose the latter. ‘You mean Lennox?’

  The Watcher took a deep breath. ‘Lennox. Lovely man. He didn’t change, right up to the end. It was a pleasure watching him die.’

  It was the first time the man had directly confessed to a crime. ‘What did he do to you?’

  The Watcher made a sound, an imitation of a laugh. ‘I’m not going to do your job for you, Lambert. You’ll be pleased to know that I don’t tar everyone with the same brush. I appreciate the fact that you haven’t disclosed our conversations.’

  ‘Give me something to go on then.’

  ‘I’ve already rewarded you for your honesty, Lambert.’

  ‘Really.’

  He laughed again, the same hollow sound. ‘How’s Sarah May, Matilda Kennedy and her daddy? Safe? How’s your wife, Michael? She’s still your wife, isn’t she? How’s the little baby?’

  Each question was like a punch to the stomach. Heat spread through Lambert’s body. How could he possibly know all these details about Lambert’s life? It would surely take the surveillance skills of more than one person to keep such a record. Lambert thought about the Souljacker case, and the team the killer had helping him for a number of years. Was it possible the Watcher had a team working for him as well?

  ‘You’ve gone silent, Lambert.’

  ‘Just thinking.’

  ‘Penny for them.’

  So many things swarmed through Lambert’s head that even if he wanted, he wouldn’t be able to share his thoughts. He tried one last approach. It was desperate, but at the moment there was nothing else to do. ‘Tell me the story. Tell me what happened, why you are doing this. Let’s end it here. You said you trust me. Let me honour that trust.’

  The killer paused before replying, as if reading from a script. ‘Some things can’t be undone, Lambert. Best stay out of it. Oh, and Lambert. Next time you need a locksmith, let me know. I know a great guy.’

  Chapter 35

  Lambert called Devlin from the hospital and told him to place a patrol car outside Sophie’s house. ‘If she leaves, tell them to follow her.’

  He heard the hesitation from Devlin. He had to give a reason to assign such manpower, but he wasn’t about to tell Devlin anything. Lambert knew he should get Tillman’s approval, but he wasn’t about to tell his young DC that. ‘You have my authorisation on this, Devlin. Get on with it.’

  ‘Sir.’

  Lambert regret
ted the outburst but the conversation with the Watcher had thrown him. Lambert felt vulnerable and there was nothing he could do about it for the time being. The threat was implicit. He didn’t want to share details of their conversations. He could put Sophie in protective custody, but he couldn’t put everyone he knew in, and taking Sophie out of the equation would just divert the killer onto someone else. He would keep them under surveillance for now.

  He met Kennedy in the ward. ‘DCI Lambert, DS Kennedy,’ said Dr Hughes, welcoming them outside Laura Dempsey’s room, the lilt of her accent making it difficult to decipher if the warmness was genuine. ‘Mrs Dempsey has been receiving psychological care. She is still in a very fragile state. I agreed to this, but if it is not completely necessary then I would ask that you postpone.’

  ‘We’ll be in and out as quick as possible. The killer is still at large, and Mrs Dempsey could be the closest thing we have to identifying him,’ said Lambert.

  Laura Dempsey was sitting up in her bed. Lambert was surprised to see her reading a book. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything for longer than a couple of minutes following Chloe’s death. It had been months before he’d picked up a book. He’d spent hours in front of the television, the words and pictures little more than white noise. It was heartening to see that Laura could escape, even for a small time, into another world.

  Dempsey shut the book. She looked better than the last time they’d seen her, a hint of colour in her skin, her eyes fresh, almost welcoming.

  Kennedy moved to the side of the bed. ‘Sorry to disturb you again, Laura. We just wanted to ask you some questions.’ Kennedy sounded compassionate and genuine. Lambert was not sure if he would have come across as so empathetic.

  ‘Ask away,’ said Dempsey.

  Kennedy showed her a picture of DI Lennox on her iPad. ‘Do you recognise this man?’

  Dempsey took the iPad. ‘Should I? This picture is years old,’ she said, but her eyes didn’t leave the screen. ‘Is he dead?’ she asked, finally taking her eyes away from the image.

  Kennedy nodded.

  ‘The same way?’ said Dempsey, choking back tears.

  ‘Do you recognise him?’