LITMIR.BIZ

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DCI Lambert. I know all about you. How is Glenn Tillman?’

      Lambert had run through Blake’s file on The System last night and knew that Tillman had investigated him a number of times over the years with no success.

      ‘You’ll have to ask him yourself. I am here on another issue.’

      Blake lifted his coffee cup. ‘Where are my manners? Can I get you something? Water, perhaps? You look like you ran here.’

      ‘I’m fine.’

      Lambert told him about Moira Sackville.

      Blake drank his coffee, lost in contemplation. ‘Poor Eustace. I never had the pleasure of meeting his wife.’

      ‘You knew Eustace well.’

      ‘Of course, of course. Eustace Sackville, reporter extraordinaire. That’s why you wanted to speak to me?’

      ‘I understand you and Eustace have a history?’

      A smirk crossed Blake’s lips but lent no humour to his face. ‘I would hardly call it that.’

      ‘You know he was investigating you?’

      ‘You must have spoken to him already. Some preposterous idea he had. He still thinks I’m twenty, thinks I’m some sort of petty criminal. He even had the temerity to call me.’

      ‘I don’t think he believes you’re a petty criminal,’ said Lambert, looking around at the ostentatious decorations of the dining room.

      Blake looked at his mobile. ‘My point exactly. This has been hard won. I work fifteen, sixteen hours a day. I’m never off this bloody thing.’

      ‘I understand that Eustace was looking at some competing groups?’

      The smirk had disappeared from Blake’s face. ‘Some perceived competition. I told Sackville then, and I’m telling you now, that I have nothing to fear from Russians, Albanians, Kosovans, or whoever is the new flavour of the month. I have nothing to do with them, and they have nothing to do with me.’

      ‘Why all the security?’

      Blake shook his head as if he was talking to an imbecile. ‘You don’t become successful in this world without making enemies, Lambert, you must know that. This is all for precaution.’ He took another sip of coffee. ‘I know why you want to speak to me, Lambert. Let me see, you think Moira Sackville was killed, what, as a warning?’

      Lambert sat stony-faced.

      ‘No, not a warning. Why bother going to such lengths, may as well have bumped him off as well? You think Eustace was being punished for something. Something he knew, or something he did. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you but I think you are barking up the wrong tree, as it were. At least, if it’s concerning me. Why would I care about what that journalist was up to? Maybe he pissed off the wrong people somewhere. But really, it’s all a bit, well, messy.’

      ‘And it has nothing to do with you, I presume?’

      Blake pursed his lips, his face cracking into a patchwork of lines like an uncharted map. ‘Of course not. Now if you don’t mind, Atkinson here will show you out. Please pass on my regards to your superior.’

      Lambert felt a touch on his shoulder and turned to face Atkinson, who had crept up on him.

      He allowed the head of security to escort him out. He couldn’t argue with Blake’s logic and he’d summed it up very well. The case was messy. Finding a motive was proving illusive and it was a possibility that the attack was a one-off, that there was no rhyme or reason, and that unless the killer struck again they would never find out who he was.

      Lambert headed for the train station, thinking that the time may have come to start using a pool car. He’d avoided travelling by car as much as possible since the car accident which had taken his daughter but it was becoming unavoidable. Travelling by public transport may give him time to think but it also ate away at his time. As long as he didn’t drive late at night, he was sure he would be okay.

      He checked his phone. Kennedy had called and left a text message. It was something about Moira Sackville’s ex-lover, the barrister Charles Robinson. Lambert was about to call her back when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

      It was a firm tap, more a grab, and Lambert immediately went on the defensive. He turned in one swift moment, at the same time stepping back a few steps to avoid any contact from a would-be attacker.

      ‘Steady there,’ said the man who’d tapped his shoulder, lifting his hands in defence.

      ‘Can I help you?’ said Lambert, still poised for attack.

      The man reached into the inside pocket of his threadbare jacket and showed Lambert a warrant card. ‘DS Harrogate. We need to talk.’

Chapter 13

      Harrogate led him to a small bar off the high street. The walls were decorated with television screens of various sizes showing different sports. The air conditioning was working full blast and was a welcome distraction from the outside heat. Harrogate ordered a pint of Guinness and a double vodka. ‘Drink?’ he asked.

      ‘Water,’ said Lambert.

      They took a seat in a small booth at one corner of the bar, Lambert facing the bar’s exit. Harrogate downed the vodka in one gulp and took a large swig of the Guinness. He wiped a line of white foam from his top lip, and took a second drink. His face was pitted with a few days’ growth of stubble, his eyes tired-looking and bloodshot.

      ‘What were you doing at Blake’s place?’ he asked.

      Lambert tried not to bristle at the man’s opening question. ‘How do you know I was at the Blake residence, and what business is it of yours, Sergeant?’

      Harrogate laughed, a deep rasping noise escaping his lips. ‘Let’s not be formal, Lambert. I know you were there because I’ve been working on Blake for the last five years and you may have just fucked up all that work.’

      ‘I didn’t see anything on his file.’

      ‘You wouldn’t, would you?’ Blake downed the rest of the Guinness and pointed to the barman for a refill.

      ‘If you’re running some sort of covert operation then I apologise, but how could I possibly know? Now if you can get over yourself, we can perhaps swap information.’

      The barman returned and Harrogate wordlessly gave him a ten pound note. ‘Why were you there?’

      Lambert relented and told him about Sackville.

      ‘I’m surprised you got to see him,’ said Harrogate.

      ‘I had to clear security before I was granted an audience. Then he was as evasive as possible.’

      ‘It sounds like a very tentative link between Blake and Sackville.’

      ‘Pretty much what Blake said.’

      ‘You treating it as a dead end?’ Harrogate was halfway through the second pint, though the alcohol didn’t seem to be having any notable effect. He had a similar body shape to Tillman, though where Tillman was muscle, Harrogate was flab.

      ‘We’ll have to see what Sackville comes back with, but I can’t see Blake putting himself in such a position. So what about you?’

      ‘Just trying to pull away the facade of the legitimate businessman. He protects himself through lines of red tape and lawyers. Naturally, he has a pyramid of lackeys doing all the dirty work for him.’

      ‘Drugs?’ asked Lambert, thinking about the case he’d been working on before Sackville.

      ‘Probably, but we’re looking at something else – people trafficking. We think his organisation has been working in line with an East European gang, Croatians, setting up houses throughout the city.’

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