Dead Lucky

The figure of Charles Robinson jogged towards them, his face flushed from the exertion. ‘I remembered something,’ he said, his breath coming in rapid bursts between words. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing but thought you should know. A former client of mine used the same MO, similar at least, to what you’ve just told me.’

Lambert didn’t respond. He took out his notebook, waited for Robinson to reveal himself.

‘Obviously, I can’t tell you anything confidential but it reached the court. May I?’ he said, looking at Lambert’s notepad.

Lambert handed it over and Robinson scribbled some words onto the paper. ‘You’ll find everything there,’ said Robinson, writing R v. Whitfield CJ (2008) on the piece of paper.

‘You represented Whitfield?’ asked Lambert.

Robinson nodded.

‘Verdict?’

Robinson pursed his lips. ‘Not guilty.’

Chapter 8 (#ulink_ee9e2d70-c27d-5bd3-a05d-3ce1a0e6682b)

They watched Robinson walking back towards chambers.

‘He looks worried,’ said Kennedy.

‘Perhaps. Go back and read through the case, and everything we have on it. Call me when you have some details and we can decide if it’s worth pursuing.’

‘You don’t think it will be?’

‘It would be convenient, but let’s see. I’m going to visit Eustace again. I want to know if he knew about Robinson, and what he’s been working on lately.’

‘I have an appointment with the head librarian from Moira’s library. I postponed the meeting after McKenzie’s revelations about Charles Robinson.’

‘Good. You should have time to check the case first, or get someone else on it so we at least have a summary.’

Lambert caught the tube back to the hospital. He rarely used cars if he could help it and in central London it was usually quicker getting about by public transport. He thought about Robinson’s changing personalities. The sadness he’d expressed on learning of Moira’s death, followed by the anger at the insinuation he’d read into Kennedy’s questions. He saw the case opening up before him, strand after strand branching out into infinite possibilities. He wanted a working theory but so far it was evading him. He hoped that Moira’s death was personal. That way it would be easier to find the killer. If it was random, which seemed unlikely, they would have to rely on the killer having made a mistake.

For now, they had to find out more about Moira Sackville. He realised they knew very little apart from her friendship with Prue McKenzie, and relationship with the Welsh barrister. Hopefully, Kennedy’s meeting with Moira’s colleagues would shed some more light on the woman.

After eating lunch in a small Italian off Lordship Lane, he called Sarah.

‘DCI May.’

‘Very formal,’ said Lambert.

‘I just like the way it sounds. How are you, stranger?’

‘I’m well. Thought I’d check in, see if you remember me, that sort of thing.’ The lunch had energised him and despite the stress of the case he felt momentarily optimistic, sitting in the sunshine, nursing an espresso, speaking to Sarah.

DCI Sarah May had been the SIO on the Souljacker case and they had ended up working together, albeit unofficially. They had become close after the case, and Lambert had spent some time at her flat in Bristol before returning to London. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed hearing her voice.

‘You can call me any time, Michael, you know that. You don’t need an excuse.’

‘So what are you working on?’ said Lambert, changing the subject.

‘Same. We keep finding bodies.’ She was referring to the legacy of the Souljacker. Following his death, a book was published electronically releasing the details of a number of murders. May had been tasked with following up and had so far discovered four unmarked graves. ‘What about you, still on the drugs case?’

‘No, I’ve been promoted. I’m heading up a murder investigation.’

‘Look at you, back to your old ways.’

Lambert outlined the case, keeping the detail confidential.

‘Some promising leads,’ said May. ‘You think it’s a one-off?’

‘I suppose it comes down to motive. If he was after her for some reason then it might end here. Don’t know yet.’

‘Well, let me know if you need any help,’ said May, a mischievous lilt to her voice.

They were skirting around the real issue. He’d returned to London to start work, and there had been no resolution about their relationship. They’d promised to keep in touch, to visit, but nothing more definite. He would have loved to see her, but they were both too busy.

There was also something else pressing on him, which he blurted out. ‘Sophie’s had the baby.’

Sarah didn’t respond and he thought for a second the line had been cut. ‘Ah,’ she said, eventually. ‘When?’

‘Three days ago. They’ve had to keep her in for some checks. There were some difficulties but she should be going home today. Sorry, Sarah, I should have told you before.’

‘Don’t be silly. How is she? How are you?’

‘She’s fine. The baby is called Jane.’ He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, Jane Chloe.

‘How are you, Michael?’ said Sarah, insistent.

‘I’m okay. It’s a bit surreal. Look, I can’t talk about it at the moment.’

‘I’ll come down,’ said Sarah.

Lambert snorted, his pulse quickening. ‘You’re coming to rescue me?’

Sarah laughed down the line, the melodic sound sending waves of feeling through him. ‘Yes. You’re all alone, and Sophie has this new baby, and…’

He cut her off. ‘I have the case. I’ll be fine. When we have some more time we can get together. It would be good to see you.’

‘Smooth talker.’ She hesitated. ‘You know I should come. But fine. Call me when you need to.’

‘I know. Look, I’d better go. Duty calls.’

‘Look after yourself.’

‘You too.’

He braced himself for seeing Sophie and the baby as he entered the hospital. It was possible they were still both upstairs in the maternity ward but he couldn’t bring himself to find out, unsure if it was his place any more.