Dead Lucky

Lambert gave him a moment. ‘How well did you know Mrs Sackville?’ he asked.

Robinson didn’t answer. He remained facing the bookcase. Lambert was about to ask again when the man dragged his hand across his face and turned back in their direction. ‘Sorry about that. This is quite a shock.’ His bright red face highlighted the faint creases in his complexion, ageing him by ten years. ‘How well did I know her? I knew her well. She is a good friend of Prue. Prue McKenzie. Sorry, Prue is a friend of the chambers, does a lot of work for charity. I met Moira through her at one of the functions. And her husband, Eustace,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘How is Eustace?’

‘As well as can be expected,’ said Lambert, not willing to divulge any more details at present.

‘How close were you to Moira, Mr Robinson?’ asked Kennedy.

Robinson linked his hands together, and stared at Kennedy. ‘I suppose you know something or you wouldn’t be here,’ he said. ‘I would sincerely hope this doesn’t get out, for Eustace’s sake, but yes, Moira and I were lovers for a time.’

Lambert doubted the man’s concern was for Moira’s widower. ‘How long?’

‘Five years, on and off.’

‘How often did you see her?’ asked Kennedy, a coldness in her tone.

‘Listen, it was her choice. I never instigated anything, and would never contact her. I would only see her when she contacted me. That was the way it worked and I respected it.’

‘Do you mind me asking if you have a significant partner?’ asked Lambert.

Robinson frowned. ‘No. My wife died fifteen years ago and there has been no one serious since.’ He ran his hands through his hair, leaving a loose tuft sticking up from his scalp. ‘I don’t feel great about what happened. I don’t prey on other people’s wives as a rule. I’m afraid Moira wasn’t that happy with Eustace, and that was long before I came along. I didn’t steal her. She was obviously missing something in her life which I provided.’

‘When was the last time you saw her?’ said Kennedy.

Robinson clenched his hands together, his eyes darting upwards. ‘About a year ago.’

‘A year? You’re sure?’

‘Approximately, yes. I decided to end it. I’m afraid it had started to become quite tiresome.’

‘And how did Mrs Sackville respond to this news?’ asked Lambert.

‘She was distraught. I received the odd phone call. Tears, that sort of thing, but I am sure she got over it.’

Lambert thought about what Kennedy had told him. The S and M Prue McKenzie had reluctantly detailed. ‘No one is morally judging you, Mr Robinson. Our concern is to track Moira’s killer. I’m afraid the crime scene was not a pleasant one.’

Robinson took in a number of shallow breaths. ‘Do I really need to hear this?’

‘I’ll only go into as much details as necessary. There was a home invasion. Mrs Sackville was handcuffed to a chair,’ said Lambert.

Robinson put his hand to his mouth. As a criminal barrister he would have heard much worse, as a defence barrister would have defended those accused of such acts. Either it was a show, or he was genuinely distressed by his lover’s death. ‘We believe the intruder cut open her wrists and that Mrs Sackville slowly bled to death.’

‘Slowly?’ said Robinson, his voice a squawk of anguish.

Lambert stared at the man, searching for any clues that he was play acting.

‘Eustace?’ said Robinson.

Lambert glanced at Matilda, her face impassive. ‘He was made to watch.’

‘He wasn’t hurt?’

‘He was cuffed to a chair as well.’

Robinson turned his attention towards the ceiling, seemingly picturing the scene. ‘They let him go?’

‘They?’ said Matilda.

‘Him, her, them?’

‘Mr Sackville confirmed there was just the one intruder,’ said Lambert.

‘Why did they hurt Moira, and not Eustace?’ Robinson was more focused, quizzing them as if they were on trial.

‘That’s what we need to find out. Mr Robinson, this is a delicate matter but can you elaborate on your relationship with Moira Sackville?’

‘Elaborate?’

Lambert hesitated, thinking how best to broach the subject, when Matilda interjected. ‘Did you and Mrs Sackville engage in any unusual sexual practices?’

Robinson flushed red. Lambert initially thought he was embarrassed but soon realised it was something else.

‘And how the hell is that any of your business?’ he asked, his booming voice heavily accented.

‘It links in with our investigation,’ said Matilda, unmoved by the barrister’s protestations.

‘Links in with your investigation? Why, because she was tied to a chair?’

‘Cuffed,’ said Lambert.

‘What a tenuous, flimsy link! Who told you this?’ said Robinson, the answer dawning on him. ‘Prue McKenzie, what a surprise. I knew Moira would tell her, though I warned her not to, judgemental and no discretion.’

‘I thought you were good friends with Mrs McKenzie?’ said Kennedy.

Lambert was struck at how quickly Robinson had unravelled. He’d revealed more of himself in the last thirty seconds than he had throughout the rest of the interview.

‘No one is good friends with her, except maybe Moira.’ He shook his head, as if he’d forgotten about the death of his lover. ‘You think she does all that charity work for the good causes? Don’t make me laugh. It’s all a show, a way to ingratiate herself. I bet she never puts a penny in out of her own pocket, just uses the money raised to buy the fancy caterers and party planners so she can look good amongst her friends.’

‘But she introduced you?’ said Lambert, keen to exploit Robinson in his emotional state.

‘Not really. We were both at one of her parties and we met. We introduced ourselves.’ His face was still red, his breathing laboured. He sat back in his chair, the colour draining from his face. ‘I’m not going to discuss what we did. I won’t let you sully her memory.’

Lambert nodded. ‘I will need a note of your whereabouts last night.’

Robinson’s eyes widened as he adopted a sardonic tone. ‘It’s always a pleasure helping you guys out. I was at an Inn’s dinner. I was there till gone midnight. I ordered a taxi. Latchford will give you the number of the firm we use so you can check with the driver.’

Robinson stood, giving Lambert and Kennedy their cue to do the same. ‘Listen, I’m sorry if I lost my temper,’ said Robinson, to Kennedy in particular. ‘I will assist in any way I can.’ Lambert was intrigued by the barrister’s sudden changes in behaviour. The news of Moira’s death had clearly affected him.

It was raining as they left the chambers; a sudden downpour had reached the drains, leaving a faint sulphurous odour in the air. ‘Verify what he told us,’ said Lambert, as he heard a shout from behind him.