Dead Embers

by Matt Brolly

  ‘Very well concealed,’ added Greene, who looked as though the cold had got to her. She held her arms tightly by her sides, shivering.

  Lambert knew better than to get excited. The door could be anything, most likely a disused access point for the sewage system.

  They arranged the light around the opening and Lambert twisted the ring-pull, feeling the heavy creak of a lock mechanism opening. He pulled back the manhole cover which was heavier than he’d expected, and a wave of fetid air rushed him. He turned from the blast and laid the manhole cover on the ground.

  ‘Torch,’ he said to Matilda, blood rushing through his veins. He glanced into the opening, not keen to see what lay within the depths. The torch revealed a narrow tunnel drop. Metal rungs were hooked onto the curved wall, making up a makeshift ladder. Lambert peered into the hole, further ascertaining the length of the drop which he estimated to be thirty or forty metres deep.

  ‘I guess one of us has to go down,’ he said to Matilda, hauling himself back up.

  ‘I guess so,’ she agreed, not moving.

  ‘Fine,’ said Lambert, ‘but you’re coming with me. Greene, you stand guard.’

  Greene perched the lights over the opening as Lambert dangled his leg over the hole.

  He hesitated as he made contact with the first rung, pushing his foot into the hard metal, confirming it wasn’t going to give way. He was almost disappointed when it didn’t budge. He took a deep breath, and dangled his second leg into the darkness.

  He stopped on each rung of the ladder, checking his footing. It was like being in a vacuum, the darkness of the opening sucking away the light and swallowing him whole. His head was telling him to return to the surface but still he crawled downwards, wondering if he would ever reach the bottom.

  ‘Wait until I call,’ he said to Matilda, continuing his descent until his feet landed with a thud. He stamped three times and shone his torch on the floor, confirming he was standing on concrete. It was a relief to be on terra firma but a sense of unease covered him, as he wondered what was down there. He counted to ten, controlling his breathing before calling up.

  ‘Your turn,’ he shouted up to Matilda, his voice echoing in the tunnel.

  Matilda’s progress was quicker and within a minute she was standing next to him on the concrete floor. To their left was a single archway. Lambert made cautious steps through the gap, which led to a cavernous room stretching to the ground above. Again, the flooring was made of concrete, suggesting the whole underground bunker was man-made.

  They moved their torches around the room, uncovering three further openings seemingly carved into the rock formation. Lambert peered down the first of the three openings and noticed something odd on one of the stone walls.

  ‘Here,’ he said to Matilda, shining a torch on a light switch.

  Lambert went to switch on the light but Matilda grabbed his wrist. He could tell what she was thinking. The explosions they’d endured over the last couple of days had taught them to wait. Lambert checked for wiring or any sign of a generator. However the switch was controlled, it must have been deep within the rock structure.

  ‘Sod it,’ he said, flicking the switch, surprised when a line of five dim lights sputtered into action along the corridor ceiling.

  Five metres down the corridor they came to the first door. The thick metal structure gave the impression of a prison cell, but when Lambert pushed the door open he saw nothing more than a poorly decorated holiday flat. A further light switch illuminated the room. A king-size double bed took up much of the space. The stone walls were not painted but someone had fixed a large mirror opposite the bed and, to the side, a framed print of a nautical scene which Lambert vaguely remembered from his childhood.

  ‘Do you think someone lives here?’ said Matilda.

  ‘There are certainly some home comforts.’

  They left the room and moved down the corridor, discovering eight further rooms along the tunnel, each a mini replica of the first. In the last three rooms were a set of bunk beds. All in all, Lambert believed there was enough bedding to accommodate at least thirty people.

  ‘This is bizarre,’ said Matilda, reaching the end of the corridor.

  ‘Could be some sort of military thing. A training barracks,’ said Lambert.

  They made their way back up the tunnel, switching off the lights until they were back at the starting point. They took the central tunnel next. It was mapped out similarly to the first. Again, the first door had a prison-like feel to it.

  The feeling continued as Lambert pushed through the metal opening. This was no badly maintained holiday home. It was what Lambert had feared from the beginning: a prison. The stone-floored room was bare. No mirrors or ancient prints, just a soiled single mattress to one corner.

  Lambert glanced at Matilda. It was something he’d become accustomed to within weeks of becoming a detective. Some places were off. The walls assimilated the pain and suffering which had occurred within. He had no scientific backing to such a theory but every officer knew it, and Lambert didn’t need to use his eyes to know this was one of those places.

  No light switch adorned the cell so they both shone their torches at the stone wall, the darkness of which seemed to absorb the light.

  ‘Look, here,’ said Matilda, pointing to a hook which protruded from one of the walls.

  ‘Jesus, there’s more,’ said Lambert, lighting the opposite wall and revealing three further circular hooks.

  Neither spoke, both understanding the hooks had been used to chain someone in place. Like tunnel one, tunnel two was full of identical rooms. It put paid to Lambert’s theory of an army training ground. The second tunnel was a place of captivity, almost definitely torture. A wave of claustrophobia came over him and he stopped to take some deep breaths, trying not to smell the decay that emanated from the place.

  They hurried back up the corridor, both reluctant to enter tunnel three.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  At first, Lambert was thankful there were no doors along tunnel three. They walked through a low archway, as slowly as feasible, waiting for another surprise.

  The tunnel led to a wide-open space. Again, there were no lights. As Lambert lit the area with his torch, all he wanted to do was turn and retreat, pretend he’d never seen what had appeared in his vision.

  The room was a gigantic version of the tunnel two prisons. Mattresses were strewn across the floor and on the stone walls hung various hooks at different heights. Discarded chains and handcuffs littered the floor. They were standing in a place of unimaginable horror.

  Knowing they shouldn’t contaminate the crime scene, Lambert made them stand on the periphery, reluctantly shining his torch on every inch of space until in one corner he stopped, his light focused on a mound which seemed to be squirming. He made his way over, taking large steps so as not to contaminate the area further. He fought back rising nausea as he discovered what he’d feared. The mound was a pile of bones, sat upon a pile of waste swarming with insects. He’d seen some bad things during his career but nothing which could prepare him for this.

  Matilda moved towards him but he stopped her in her tracks.

  ‘There’ll be time enough for that later,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out of here. Seal the place up. Someone needs to answer some questions.’

  * * *

  They explained as best they could to Greene before sealing the trapdoor shut and covering it with discarded brambles. Greene looked distraught.

  ‘Remember you were ordered to leave this place by your boss. It’s not your fault, it’s Sinnott’s.’

  ‘We need to get a team down here,’ said Greene.

  ‘We can’t call it in yet,’ said Lambert.

  ‘You’re kidding me,’ said Greene, looking to Matilda for assistance.

  ‘Whatever slim chance we have of finding Caroline depends on keeping this secret. We go public with this and whoever is responsible will panic. I need you to tell me you agree.’

  Green
e considered and nodded her head in agreement.

  Colville was waiting inside the car. She listened intently to what they told her but didn’t react, beyond a cursory question about Caroline.

  They packed the car and covered their tracks as best as possible. Neither spoke as they drove back, Lambert lost in thought of what he’d seen beneath the ground. It appeared Greene had been correct in her assertion about the Manor. Trevor Hodge’s dying words had been the only tentative link which had brought him first to Greene, and then the underground horror show. One thing seemed apparent, Caroline Jardine was not at Waverley Manor. The pile of bones they’d discovered were years old and even a cursory look at the discarded bones told Lambert they were not adult size. He kept playing over his options, and kept reaching the same conclusion.

  ‘Get some sleep,’ he told the officers. ‘We’ll reconvene here tomorrow at ten am, and no word of what we discovered to anyone. Even to Glenn, Matilda.’

  Matilda nodded and drove off.

  * * *

  Back at the flat, Lambert was surprised to see Sarah May lounging on the sofa, a large glass of red wine in her hand. He’d thought about her at odd moments since their last encounter, his mind returning to the smell of her new perfume. She raised her hand in greeting as he entered the room and poured himself a glass of wine.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ said Sarah, as he sat next to her. ‘I couldn’t face being alone tonight.’

  ‘You don’t ever need to ask that, Sarah.’ Lambert winced as he took his first sip of the wine.

  ‘Don’t I? I thought after what has been happening recently you might not want me here.’

  Lambert pinched the bridge of his nose, the weight of what he’d seen at the Manor hitting him. He placed his wine on the floor and moved towards Sarah, too distracted to talk. As he kissed her, he realised her perfume had returned to her usual brand.

  * * *

  Later, he lay restless in his bed, unable and unwilling to sleep. He didn’t want to face the risk of images from the dungeon at Waverley Manor coming to haunt him. He crept out of the bedroom, Sarah snoring gently, and brewed some fresh coffee. On his laptop he logged into the System and ran more searches on the Manor, no longer caring if his searches could be traced. He entered sub-streams: Waverley Manor, Caroline Jardine, Hodge, Berry, Turner. Greene, Colville, Duggan, Sinnott.

  In the end he concluded there was only one definite lead at that moment, and he knew he had to pursue it alone.

  Chapter Forty

  At some point during the night, he must have fallen asleep. He woke with a judder just before six am, sitting on the kitchen chair. His head was on the table next to his laptop as Sarah nudged him awake. She was already dressed. ‘I need to get back,’ she said. ‘What are you doing sleeping at your desk?’

  ‘Couldn’t sleep,’ he said, recalling the images of Waverley Manor which had plagued his fitful sleep.

  She gave him a rueful look, a world of meaning in her eyes, and despite having spent the night together he sensed nothing much had changed between them.

  He watched her leave, before heating some coffee in the microwave, showering and changing. He’d arranged to meet Matilda and the rest of the team at ten but it was unlikely he’d be back in time.

  He drove to Beckenham first, back to his old house, thankful to see the light in the living room switched on. What would Sarah make of him being here, so soon after sleeping with her? He shook his head, trying to dispel the thought, unwilling to be distracted by personal issues when Caroline Jardine was still to be found.

  Despite this resolution, his nerves jangled as he made his way to the front door. He knocked gently for the second time in recent memory feeling like a teenager on a first date.

  ‘Michael,’ said Sophie, opening the door. She’d obviously just woken up. She was wrapped in the well-worn dressing gown she’d had ever since they’d met, her hair dishevelled.

  ‘I’m sorry to call round so early. I need to get something from the office.’

  ‘Come on in,’ said Sophie, running her hands through her hair. ‘Come through, I’ll pour you some coffee.’

  Lambert did as instructed.

  It was surreal sitting in the kitchen area. It was like he’d just returned from a long holiday, the place firmly rooted in his memory but somehow unfamiliar. Sophie hadn’t changed any aspect. The same photos still hung on the walls, even one of their wedding. It was the new photos which changed the place. The pictures of the new baby, Jane, Chloe’s sister.

  Sophie poured him a coffee and sat at the table opposite to him.

  ‘Rough night?’ he said.

  Sophie frowned but it was a light-hearted gesture. ‘You could say that. She’s kept me up half the night.’

  If he closed his eyes it was too easy to imagine that it was ten years ago and Sophie was talking about Chloe. He remembered many a sleepless night, and would have given anything to have them back.

  ‘I think I need some of that,’ said Sophie, grabbing herself a coffee.

  Lambert watched her glide across the kitchen, her aged dressing gown revealing more flesh than she realised.

  She returned and frowned at him again. ‘What you smiling at?

  Lambert gestured to her gown, which was now fully open. He remembered with a stab of pain the last time he’d seen her naked, the day she’d told him she was pregnant with Jane. She pulled the gown shut, with a grin, and started biting the thumbnail on her right hand.

  ‘What’s so important in the office that you need to call so early?’ she said, deflecting her embarrassment.

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  On cue, the noise of Jane’s crying filtered through the house. ‘You can go up if you want,’ said Sophie.

  For a second, Lambert thought she wanted him to fetch the baby before realising she meant he could go up to the office. He followed her up the first flight of steps, not stopping as she headed into the nursery.

  The office was situated at the top floor of the house, along with a bedroom and small bathroom. Lambert had moved in following Chloe’s death and it looked untouched. The office still held one of his old laptops, and a wave of nostalgia overcame him as he looked out of the window at his neighbours’ rooftops and gardens.

  He opened the wardrobe, uncovering the safe that was built into the reinforced interior wall. He punched eight digits onto a keypad and the safe sprung open. As his current abode was only temporary, he hadn’t had time to move the safe, and thought it safer leaving it at the house. He checked the contents and withdrew what he needed.

  The Glock 22 was a legacy from his time in the Group. Although he’d been allowed to carry a weapon, the Glock had been purchased as a secondary, and unregistered, weapon. He withdrew the bag of clips and placed them inside his jacket, then strapped on the harness. He decided to place the gun in his inside coat pocket, rather than in the harness, as he didn’t want Sophie to see the gun.

  He closed the safe and made his way downstairs. ‘In here,’ said Sophie, as he reached the ground floor. Lambert checked his watch before hanging his coat up and returning to the kitchen.

  Jane looked as if she’d just been fed. She sat on Sophie’s lap and tilted her head to see him as she heard his approach. He couldn’t help but smile at her, and again it was as if he’d been carried back to the past. It was almost too much for him to handle, and he was about to leave when Sophie’s phone rang.

  ‘Oh, I must get that,’ she said, handing Jane to him without a second thought.

  Lambert went to protest, his mouth hanging open, but Sophie had already taken the phone and departed. Jane stared at him as if amused by his predicament. ‘I suppose you think this is funny, do you?’ he said, provoking a giggle from Jane. ‘You do, do you?’ he said, warming to the game.

  Jane started laughing and he saw so much of Chloe in the gesture that it was painful to watch.

  ‘That was work,’ said Sophie, returning. Instead of collecting Jane from him, she began filling the dishwa
sher.

  ‘Work?’

  ‘I’m thinking of going back,’ she said, grinning at him as Jane played with his shirt.

  ‘I need to go,’ said Lambert, remembering why he was there.

  ‘It’s not a problem,’ said Sophie.

  ‘What isn’t?’ said Lambert, handing Jane back to her.

  Sophie shrugged as if it was obvious. ‘I see you, you know.’

  Lambert felt his pulse quicken.

  ‘The way you look at her.’

  He relaxed, thankful she wasn’t referring to the times he’d parked outside the house.

  ‘You’ve noticed the way Jane looks at you too?’

  ‘I haven’t got time for this, Sophie. Really. I’m sorry.’

  She gave him her standard withering look, telling him without words that he was talking nonsense. ‘Well, when you do maybe we can talk about it?’

  ‘OK. Bye,’ he said. ‘And bye to you too,’ he added, pinching Jane’s nose.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Lambert sat in the front seat of the car and exhaled. He slipped the gun out of the inside pocket of his jacket and into the holster, before setting off.

  His mind kept drifting to what Sophie had said at the house. The whole experience had thrown him. She’d said they could talk about it when they had the time, but he wasn’t sure what exactly she wanted to discuss. With that, and Sarah staying the night, his mind was full of things it shouldn’t be. He had to snap out of it. It was the sixth day the Jardines had been missing, and he was going to find some answers via the only way open to him.

  He followed the route he’d programmed into the sat-nav, pleased to be making good time as the morning traffic gradually increased. He thought about what he’d planned to do constantly ever since his experience beneath the ground at Waverley Manor. He’d brought the gun as back-up, in case things went sour, but gun or no gun he was going to get the truth from Chief Superintendent Sinnott.