by Matt Brolly
Or he wanted us to think that, thought Lambert.
* * *
Back at the station, Lambert and Finch worked through the case in detail. The officer was not easy company. Finch struggled to maintain eye contact, his gaze wandering around the room as if he could see things not visible to Lambert.
‘Have you seen anything like this before?’ asked Lambert.
‘Orr has a lot to answer for,’ said Finch, animated. ‘I see copycats all the time, though rarely as well executed as this. This guy knew what he was doing.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Lambert, thinking about how in addition to setting fire to the place, the arsonist had managed to kidnap the Jardines whilst replacing them with two other bodies.
‘Yeah, it’s more than that,’ said Finch, rubbing his ear. A glow had spread across the man’s face.
‘You sound quite excited by this.’
Finch blushed. ‘Don’t get me wrong. What he did was horrendous, but the execution was second to none. Some of these arsonists…’ He faltered, lost in some reverie.
‘Some of these arsonists,’ repeated Lambert.
Finch shook his head. ‘It goes beyond a simple attraction to fire.’
‘I guessed that much.’
Finch blushed again, the reddening of his face a stark contrast to his pale complexion. ‘I guess it goes beyond my words as well, I suppose. You should speak to a psychologist who specialises in the field. What I’ve learnt, at least from the most serious cases, is that these guys have an affinity with the fire. It usually stems from some childhood incident, like most things you deal with, I guess. Sometimes they experienced a fire in their homes, sometimes it can be a memory of a bonfire at a time of happiness. That’s what I find most terrifying, that a happy memory can do this to you.’
From Lambert’s experience, such a happy memory would usually be counteracted by something tragic later down the road. ‘But what is getting you so excited about this guy?’
Finch resumed glancing around the room. ‘That ring of fire confirmed it for me. Look at the way he lay out the incendiary devices, the placement of the accelerants.’
‘You’ve lost me.’
‘He thinks he can control the fire,’ said Finch, folding his arms.
‘Is that unusual?’
‘You can’t control fire. Not really. You can have safe explosions. Contained areas where the fire is unable to spread. But this guy thinks he can control a fire in an open area, where there is oxygen and flammable materials.’
‘And this is obviously impossible.’
‘It is, but he’s made a bloody good attempt.’
Chapter Fourteen
As Lambert drove home, he thought through what Finch had said about the arsonist believing he could control the fire. He had found Finch’s romanticism tiring by the end. There was nothing special about delusion, it just made the arsonist more dangerous.
On the System, Lambert requested a full report of arson incidents from the last five years with similar MOs. One point on which he agreed with Finch: this was definitely not the arsonist’s first attempt.
Lambert parked outside his building, surprised to see a light on in his flat. He skipped up the stairs, wondering if Sarah had let herself in. ‘Hello?’ he called, as he opened the front door.
‘Hello yourself,’ said Sarah, who was sitting on his couch, a glass of red wine in her hand.
‘Sarah? Sarah May?’ said Lambert, in mock surprise, pouring himself a glass from the open wine bottle.
‘Very funny. Some of us have jobs, you know – can’t spend every waking minute with our boyfriends.’ She said it with a smile but Lambert sensed something beneath the words. They hadn’t seen each other since the awkward lunch, and though it felt good to see her the situation felt awkward. He poured some wine and sat next to her.
She held his eyes in the same unnerving way as always. Her mouth curled into a smile as she assessed him. ‘You look tired,’ she said.
‘You look great,’ he replied.
‘Liar.’
‘How’s the case going?’
She’d been working on a number of cases recently, including a stalker case involving an officer worker and an enamoured ex-colleague. As she talked, he found his eyes drooping.
She offered him another smile, maintaining eye contact as she sipped her wine. ‘What about you? Any news on the arsonist?’
Lambert told her about the bodies.
‘So the Jardines have been kidnapped?’ she said, pulling her legs up to her chest.
‘Either that, or they’ve staged an elaborate disappearing act.’
‘They wouldn’t leave their little girl behind like that.’
‘You would hope not,’ said Lambert. As Sarah edged closer, he had an absurd notion to tell her about his visit to Sophie’s house earlier that evening. In the end, he half-heartedly convinced himself that it wouldn’t benefit anyone.
‘Can I stay tonight, Michael?’ she whispered. ‘I’m shattered.’
‘Well, if you’re shattered,’ said Lambert. It was an innocent request, but it troubled him. She’d never asked permission to stay before, and again it suggested a growing distance between them. He thought that maybe she wanted him to follow her into the bedroom, but he was too restless. He kissed her goodnight before moving to the dining table, where he began work on his laptop.
His first step was checking Finch’s file on the System. The fire officer was an awkward character, and Lambert wanted to make sure there was nothing in the man’s background which would later cause a problem. John Orr had allegedly been responsible for over two thousand cases of arson during his time as fire officer. It was too much to hope that something in Finch’s background would alert Lambert to such a link, but he still wanted him checked out. It came as no surprise to discover that Finch had transferred from the fire service to the police force. He was technically a civilian, working as a contractor for the NCA. Lambert studied the man’s file, assessing his background from his time in University to the present. Lambert didn’t quite have a photographic memory, but words, once read, stuck with him and sometimes it could come down to just that: one word or phrase, a connection which made everything clearer.
It would take some time to read each of Finch’s cases, so Lambert narrowed each to a summary. Next, he tried various searches, including ‘Orr’ and ‘box of matches’. Surprised by the multitude of results, he began trawling through the information, unsure as to what he hoped to find.
He wasn’t even halfway through when tiredness overcame him. He hadn’t thought about his time beneath the MRI machine since the case began. Now, he reminded himself that the tests had proved negative. He stood up and made his way as quickly as possible to the bedroom, his hands pressed against the walls in case he blanked out.
Sarah sat up in bed as he stumbled into the room. ‘Michael?’ she said, her figure a blurred silhouette.
‘I’m OK,’ said Lambert, collapsing on the bed. Sarah’s hand touched his forehead as his eyesight became clouded. He closed his eyes, but the pattern of fiery colours remained in focus. ‘I’m OK,’ he repeated.
* * *
He woke with a shudder four hours later. Sarah stood at the end of the bed, pulling on her clothes.
‘I’ve woken up to worse views,’ he said.
Sarah murmured ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. You remember last night?’
‘You didn’t take advantage of me, did you?’
‘Hardly.’
‘I conked out?’ said Lambert, rubbing his eyes.
‘You certainly did. Conked completely out.’
Lambert looked down and realised he was still wearing last night’s clothes.
Catching his look, Sarah said, ‘I took your shoes off.’
‘Thanks. Sorry you had to witness that.’
She shook her head, compassion in her eyes. ‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous. You can be so frustrating at times, Michael. Do you know that?’
‘W
hat?’ He understood what she was getting at, but was loath to admit it.
‘When are you going to see someone about this? It’s obviously not doing you any good.’
He hadn’t told her about the MRI scan, and didn’t want to burden her with the knowledge now. ‘I will, but I have to be careful, Sarah, I’ve told you that.’ He could hear the slight whine in his voice and hated himself for it.
‘What would you prefer, being dead, or retired with no health issues?’ she said, leaving the bedroom.
She’d never been this angry with him before. He didn’t blame her. She obviously cared about him, and his inaction could be seen as a reflection on his feelings towards her. He considered calling out to her but it was too early for a fight.
A couple of minutes later, he heard the front door slam.
After showering, he read through Caroline Jardine’s file on the System whilst eating breakfast. He reacquainted himself with her most recent cases, the latest of which was the ongoing investigation into a number of organised groups in the Hackney area. Most of the information was readily available to him on the System, only the occasional passage blanked out. He wouldn’t rule anything out at this stage but he doubted anyone from these groups were responsible for her disappearance and the fire. For one, it was unlikely they knew they were under surveillance, and even if they did, it was even more unlikely that they knew Jardine was one of the operatives. He could be wrong; some form of ransom note or hostage video could arrive any minute, but at the moment it didn’t ring true to him. Why leave two bodies in place of the Jardines?
He began working backwards through Jardine’s cases, trying to ignore the nagging sense that he should call Sarah and apologise. He gleaned little from the files. She’d investigated and successfully prosecuted a number of high profile individuals, but again he couldn’t see anything in the files which suggested a revenge attack was likely.
Shutting his laptop, he sipped at his coffee and tried to ascertain what he was missing. The two major anomalies in the case were the missing ransom note and the two replacement bodies. He struggled to make a coherent argument for why the arsonist was working this way. The killer had clearly exchanged the two dead victims for two new victims. Harrington hadn’t uncovered any signs of torture on the two bodies, though that didn’t mean it hadn’t occurred. Lambert had learnt from experience that torture could take many forms. More would be evident when they discovered the identities of the two bodies, which he hoped would happen that day.
Chapter Fifteen
Lambert swore as he approached his car. He felt an unwelcome sense of déjà vu as he saw Mia Helmer sheltering beneath an umbrella. She was the last person he wanted to see first thing in the morning. Lambert was struck by the slightness of the woman, her lack of physical presence standing in stark contrast to her fierce and combative personality.
‘Are we dating now?’ he said, unlocking the car.
The mask on Helmer’s face didn’t crack. ‘Would you care to report on recent developments in the Jardine fire case?’ she asked.
Lambert leant against his car door. ‘I’ve told you before, Mia. If you want anything from me you need to go through our press department.’
‘I don’t need anything from you, DCI Lambert. If anything, I’m trying to help you.’
Lambert yawned. ‘You can help me by not bothering me any more,’ he said, climbing into the car.
‘I know it wasn’t the Jardines in the house,’ said Helmer, as he was closing the door.
Drops of rain fell into the car as he sat behind the wheel, his eyes closed. He wanted to shut the door, start the engine, and drive off, but knew he had to question the journalist.
Helmer’s face was smooth and unreadable. ‘What do you know?’ asked Lambert.
‘As I said, the bodies at the scene do not belong to Caroline and Marcus Jardine.’
‘I’m not confirming that, Helmer, but where the hell did you get that information from?’
Helmer’s lips moved. Lambert wouldn’t quite call it a smile, but it was as close as he’d seen from the woman. ‘I can’t share my resources, DCI Lambert, surely you know that?’
‘That information is confidential and is not for public consumption. If you publish that you will jeopardise the investigation. That means risking the lives of Caroline and Marcus Jardine. If that happens, Mia, you’ll have me to answer to. Do you understand me?’
‘Is that a threat, Michael,’ said Helmer, unfazed.
‘Yes,’ said Lambert, returning to the car seat and slamming the door.
* * *
Lambert arrived at the station to find Jardine’s boss, DCI Barnes, waiting for him. The man sat in the main reception area, a thick three-quarter-length coat buttoned to his neck.
‘You could have gone through to our back offices,’ said Lambert, approaching him.
‘I wanted to speak to you alone,’ said Barnes, standing up. His face had the same indifferent quality Lambert had seen on it the other day, but now there was also a hint of anger. ‘Where can we go?’
Lambert guided him outside and they walked to a small coffee shop off the high street. Lambert ordered as Barnes took a seat at the back of the shop.
Lambert rubbed his face as he waited for the barista to make the drinks. His skin was dry from the cold weather, his cheeks decorated with a day’s worth of stubble.
‘Thank you,’ said Barnes, as Lambert placed the coffees on the table.
‘I’m glad you came in to see me,’ said Lambert.
‘Are you now?’ said Barnes. The DCI looked uncomfortable, his long limbs cramped beneath the low table. ‘I’ve heard a lot of good things about you, Lambert. And some not so good. I need to know you are the right person to find Caroline.’
‘A fair summary,’ said Lambert. He was being assessed and he couldn’t blame Barnes for that.
Barnes chuckled. ‘You just manage to stay on the right side of the fence, don’t you? Though you have a habit of going, shall we say, off grid.’
Lambert took a drink, not answering, allowing his fellow DCI to vent his displeasure.
‘And now you’re leading a missing persons case. A case involving one of my team.’
‘I appreciate this is important to you, but is there a point to all this?’
‘You think she’s alive?’ asked Barnes.
It was the only logical working proposition. ‘Do you?’
‘I’ve lost officers before. You’re probably aware of that?’
Lambert hadn’t read about it in any of the files but made a note to check the details. ‘I think this is different,’ said Lambert.
‘So do I. That’s why I wanted to make sure I had the right team working on this.’
‘I’m not going to give you the normal platitudes on this, Barnes. The Jardines have been missing for over forty-eight hours now. You know as well as I do that this significantly decreases the chances of us finding them. Add to this that we’ve had no contact from a kidnapper, and the complication with the fire and the two bodies, and I have to confess the prognosis is not good. However, you know my work, and Tillman’s for that matter. We will not stop until everything that can be done has been done. And then, we will go one step further.’
Barnes stared hard at him. ‘All my resources are at your disposal.’
‘Thank you. I’ve read Caroline’s file. Is there anything I’m missing? Some aspect I should be focusing on? You mentioned her investigation into the organised crime racket in Hackney.’
Barnes shook his head. ‘I’ve spent every waking minute looking into her work since that fire. Our team have been out speaking to every informant. We’ve drawn a blank. As I said, you are free to access all our resources.’
Tillman was correct about the man’s poker face. The hint of anger displayed at the beginning of their meeting was the only readable sign of emotion he’d revealed. ‘OK, thank you. I’ll keep you updated as well.’
Lambert remained sitting as Barnes left the coffee shop, wa
lking with that fixed, robotic gait. Meeting the man again had told Lambert two things. First, Barnes was clearly running his own internal investigation into Jardine’s disappearance. Secondly, he knew something he wasn’t willing to share with Lambert at this juncture. He wondered if Barnes, or someone in his team, had shared the information with Mia Helmer, and if so, to what end.
Outside, he was about to return to the station when someone placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘Sorry, sir, you were miles away.’
Lambert turned to face DS Bickland. He was wearing his suit but no coat. Despite the cold he was sweating profusely. ‘We think we’ve got a hit. I wanted to catch you before you left.’
‘Get your breath back, Bickland,’ said Lambert. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘Sir, it’s the two bodies at the Jardine house. The Doc has made an identification.’
Chapter Sixteen
At the station, Lambert went through the dental records sent over by Harrington. The corpses belonged to Jonathan Turner, aged thirty-two, and Maxine Berry, aged twenty-eight. Electoral records showed that Turner was from a harbour town in Cornwall, Berry from Peterborough.
After giving the team some time to process the information, Lambert gathered them into the incident room. ‘What do we know about these two?’ he asked the assembled group.
‘Berry worked as a dental hygienist. She was reported missing four weeks ago,’ said Croft.
‘Turner was reported missing as well,’ said Bickland. ‘But only two weeks ago.’
‘We need to find some link between these two people. Anything, however tenuous. Croft, I want you to speak to the respective CID teams in their hometowns. See what they have on the pair. Bickland, I want you to lead the tech team on the search of their digital footprint. A connection is our major goal. We need access to the pair’s computers, and their online activity.’
After dismissing the team, Lambert spent the rest of the morning in his new office, searching the System. The randomness of the two bodies was troubling him. How did the two victims, from different parts of the UK, end up in the living room of Caroline and Marcus Jardine? And why?