Dead Embers

by Matt Brolly

  Sinnott lived in a hamlet in the Surrey countryside. From Lambert’s research, he usually drove to a local train station, catching the train into central London. He’d accessed Sinnott’s diary on the System, and he didn’t have an appointment until after lunch. He also had a late evening gathering, so Lambert hoped this would mean he left for work later than usual.

  Lambert was correct, though he’d arrived just in time. He parked across Sinnott’s driveway, blocking any immediate departure, and made his way up the stone path to the front door. Sinnott lived alone, having divorced his wife of fifteen years some five years ago. Lambert could only hope he was alone now as he rang the doorbell.

  Sinnott opened the door. He was on his phone, distracted, and held his finger up to Lambert as he finished the call. As he hung up, and glanced at Lambert, something in Sinnott’s features gave him away. It was a simple gesture but it was enough. A glance of recognition, mixed with a hint of fear.

  They’d never met face to face. Lambert had studied the man’s file, and had prepared for the meeting by studying lots of photos of him. ‘Chief Superintendent Sinnott?’ he asked.

  Sinnott played along with the game, guilt written all over his face. ‘Yes?’ he said, feigning impatience.

  ‘DCI Lambert, sir. Sorry for calling at your house but I need your assistance.’

  They were at an impasse. Both men understood Lambert could have called ahead and that Lambert was interested in how Sinnott would respond. ‘Specifically?’ said Sinnott, blocking the doorway.

  ‘You may be aware I am working on the missing persons case. DI Caroline Jardine, sir.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Lambert. I thought I recognised the name. How can I help you?’

  ‘Apologies if I’m out of order, sir, but may I come in? Freezing the proverbials off here.’

  Sinnott hesitated. He was under no obligation to invite him in but Lambert was a senior officer, and was investigating the disappearance of a fellow officer. Sinnott would need a good reason not to grant him access. In the end, he relented. ‘Come through,’ he said.

  Lambert stepped through the doorway, side-stepping, not showing his back to Sinnott. Sinnott remained outside for a second, Lambert catching him glance down the drive.

  ‘Is that your car?’ said Sinnott, shutting the door.

  ‘Yes. I could move it if you like.’

  Sinnott shrugged. ‘Follow me,’ he said, leading him up a small staircase. Sinnott’s house was impressive. He led Lambert across immaculate wooden floorboards, which shone as if freshly polished, to his office. Sinnott held the door open for him and made his move as Lambert stepped through the gap.

  Sinnott was too old and slow to land the blow which had been aimed at the back of Lambert’s head. Although Lambert hadn’t been expecting it, he’d been on edge ever since Sinnott had answered the door. He moved his head in time, Sinnott’s fist glancing his head but making most impact with the door. Lambert swivelled around and landed a punch square in Sinnott’s throat, ending the dispute. Sinnott dropped as if he’d been shot.

  Sinnott was breathless. He grasped for air, opening his mouth in panic. Lambert gave him a few seconds, allowing the first rush of air to filter into his lungs, before pulling his arms behind his back and cuffing him. He pulled tight on the cuffs, ignoring Sinnott’s groans, and pushed the Chief Superintendent to the ground, waiting for him to recover.

  As far as Lambert was concerned, the attack was enough to signify Sinnott’s guilt. Once he heard the man’s breathing return to normal, Lambert grabbed him from behind and shuffled him to one of the office chairs.

  Sinnott grimaced, a line of spittle caught in the corner of his mouth. ‘What the hell is this?’ he said, still breathless.

  ‘You attacked me,’ said Lambert, still standing.

  He paced the room, considering his next move. Sinnott’s office was a beautiful wood-panelled room, resplendent with custom-built bookcases. Photos of Sinnott in dress uniform decorated the walls. Lambert studied each in turn searching for accomplices. Sinnott was pictured with giants of industry and politics. Lambert looked at his grinning face receiving an award from the Chief Constable. A second photo with the Deputy Prime Minister, and a familiar face in the background crowd. It was John Weaver, the Minister of Policing.

  ‘You move in some pretty big circles,’ said Lambert, taking a seat behind Sinnott’s desk and opening the drawers of the carved desk.

  ‘I’m expected elsewhere,’ said Sinnott. ‘You’re in more trouble than you can imagine.’

  ‘Save yourself, Sinnott. I’ve heard it all before. Tell me about the Manor.’

  Experience alerted Lambert to Sinnott’s response. A narrowing of the eyes, a pause before answering, was all he needed to confirm the man’s complicity.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘You’ve heard of the Manor?’

  ‘Are you talking about Waverley Manor, where we discovered the body of that paedophile?’

  ‘Don’t plead ignorance, Sinnott. I’ve checked the files. You pulled DI Greene’s investigation into Waverley Manor.’

  ‘Yes, I freely admit that. She’d found Clarkson’s body, job done.’

  ‘But she thought there was more to it. She’d presented evidence of an organisation known as the Manor to her boss, yet you still cut the investigation.’

  Sinnott remained defiant. ‘Do you have any idea of the manpower and resources used to recover Clarkson? If you think I was prepared to extend this on the say of DI Greene then you must have me mistaken with someone else. It was a hunch, and hunches are bullshit.’

  ‘It was more than a hunch, Sinnott, as you well know.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I would suggest you release me whilst you have the chance.’

  ‘Save it, Sinnott. I have enough to take you in. Anti-corruption have been after you for years. So why don’t you help yourself?’

  It was part bluff, but it was enough to defeat Sinnott. Lambert saw the resilience fade in his eyes. ‘You can’t prove anything.’

  ‘Maybe not, but I will testify anyway. Your career is over either way, but maybe you can come out of this with some dignity.’

  ‘You have no idea what you’re dealing with, Lambert.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Sinnott. I’ve been down there.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Waverley Manor. We’ve been back.’

  Sinnott paused. ‘You have me at a loss here, Lambert.’

  ‘Don’t give me that, Sinnott. We found the opening. The manhole cover hidden in the forest.’

  Sinnott struggled in his seat, his arms flailing as if he was trying to break out of the cuffs. ‘I don’t know anything about that?’

  Lambert leant across the desk until he was only inches away from Sinnott’s face. ‘Stop struggling,’ he said.

  Sinnott froze, Lambert drawing his head back as Sinnott’s stale breath drifted towards him. ‘You don’t know about the underground prison? The torture rooms?’ He reached forward again, this time pressing his forehead against Sinnott’s. He struggled to contain his rage as visions of Waverley Manor swarmed his mind. He wanted to push Sinnott to the ground, to give the man his own kind of retribution, and if it wasn’t for Caroline Jardine he wasn’t sure he would have been able to contain the violence.

  Sinnott understood. ‘I don’t know about any of that,’ he said, pleading.

  Lambert pulled his head back. ‘Tell me what you know,’ he said.

  Sinnott smiled. It was the briefest of gestures but Lambert caught it. He leant forward and smashed his elbow into the side of the man’s head.

  ‘You don’t understand, Lambert,’ said Sinnott, spitting blood onto the desk.

  ‘Explain it to me.’

  ‘These people. The Manor. If they know I’ve been talking to you I’m as good as dead.’

  ‘You’re one of them, Sinnott, don’t try to hide that.’

  ‘No. I work for them, but I’m not one of them.’

&
nbsp; Lambert sighed. He didn’t believe the man but was willing to play the game. ‘We can offer you protection.’

  ‘Not from these people.’

  ‘You need to start speaking, Sinnott, or these people will be the least of your troubles.’

  ‘I don’t have anything to tell you, and that’s the honest truth.’

  ‘You knew about Waverley Manor?’

  ‘I was told to cut short the investigation. I have no idea about any underground prison.’

  ‘Is Caroline Jardine alive?’

  ‘I don’t know. If I knew I’d tell you. You may not believe it, but I want her found as much as you do.’

  Lambert laughed, fighting the well of violence growing within him.

  ‘It’s true,’ said Sinnott, his voice a whine of protestation. ‘You think I want to be involved with them? They got me young, Lambert. You should be glad they never got to you. They’ve dictated every aspect of my life since that moment.’

  ‘Even if that’s true, it’s a coward’s explanation. Look at you. At this house, your position. They helped you with that, I presume?’

  Sinnott shrugged.

  ‘Why didn’t you go public?’

  ‘And say what? I have nothing concrete on them, and they have people everywhere, including Anti-Corruption. If I ever opened my mouth then that would be the end of me. This is the end of me.’

  ‘Who’s in charge?

  ‘You don’t understand. There are worse things than death, Lambert.’

  Lambert had heard enough. He reached across the desk, grabbed Sinnott by the back of his head and slammed it into the desk. ‘Where’s Caroline Jardine?’

  Blood trickled from Sinnott’s nose. He spat a lump of blood-tinged phlegm onto the desk and smiled.

  Lambert got to his feet. He pulled the gun from his holster and moved around the desk. He placed the gun against Sinnott’s temple. ‘Where is Caroline Jardine?

  ‘Shoot me,’ said Sinnott. His body was convulsing, but he thrust his chin outwards.

  Lambert pushed the gun harder into Sinnott’s temple. ‘Come on, Sinnott, you must have some decency left in you. Just tell me where she is. You have my word we will protect you.

  Sinnott stopped shaking. ‘Stand me up, I’m in pain,’ he said.

  Wary, Lambert pulled him to his feet.

  Sinnott moved his neck from side to side, as if warming up at the gym. ‘I only know one name,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘John Weaver.’

  ‘Weaver?’ said Lambert, glancing at the photo on Sinnott’s sideboard. He recalled meeting the Minister of State for Policing, Fire and Criminal Justice less than a week ago, remembered being underwhelmed by the politician, and his petty demands. It had a potential symmetry to it, but was difficult to accept at face value.

  ‘Groomed me from the beginning,’ said Sinnott.

  ‘Do you have anything to back this up?’

  ‘I’m sure you could find something if you looked hard enough. He’s basically guided me through my career. You’ll see him behind everything,’ said Sinnott, collapsing to the floor.

  Lambert let him fall, stunned by the confession. Could the MP, the jumped-up prick who’d warned him to catch those responsible as quick as possible, be behind the atrocities at Waverley Manor?

  He only went to assist Sinnott when the man began smashing his face against the floor as if suffering some form of seizure.

  Lambert pulled him onto his back. Sinnott’s nose was smashed, as were a number of Sinnott’s teeth. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ said Lambert.

  Sinnott smiled. ‘Good luck, ‘ he said, before swallowing something in his mouth.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Lambert didn’t hesitate. He bent down and opened Sinnott’s mouth. ‘What have you swallowed?’ he said, thrusting his fingers down the man’s throat.

  Sinnott convulsed as he vomited. Lambert dragged back his arm but it wasn’t quick enough to prevent the fluid covering his suit jacket.

  The movement should have been quick enough, however, to stop Sinnott digesting whatever he’d swallowed. He was unconscious but breathing. Lambert placed him into the recovery position and considered his options, taking off his jacket and throwing it onto the office desk.

  It was too risky to call for medical back-up, especially after what Sinnott had told him. Reluctantly, he came to a conclusion. Only one person could get him out of this situation.

  * * *

  By the time Tillman arrived, Sinnott was barely alive. His pulse was weak. A trickle of green froth fell from his lips. Lambert didn’t want to get too close. It was possible whatever Sinnott had swallowed was poisonous to the touch.

  Tillman was flanked by two of his team, the same silent men who sometimes accompanied him. Lambert had always presumed they were ex-military, but had never discussed the issue with Tillman directly.

  ‘He’s through there,’ said Lambert, opening the front door.

  Tillman’s henchmen kept guard as the policeman made his way to the living area where Sinnott lay. Tillman stood stock-still and gazed down at Sinnott’s prone body.

  ‘You say he did this to himself?’ said Tillman, his tone neutral, lacking judgement.

  ‘From what I can gather. I think he had something in his teeth. He smashed his side against the floor and his mouth began to froth.’

  Tillman nodded as if this was the most natural thing in the world. ‘He was never any good,’ he muttered.

  Tillman made a call as Lambert paced the room.

  ‘Who are you calling?’

  ‘A medic team. We’ll secure Sinnott until we know more.’

  Five minutes later, a second pair of henchmen arrived, this time in a blacked-out transit van. They wore the same plain clothes as the two men guarding the front door and carried a gurney and medical bags. Within minutes they had Sinnott on a drip feed and strapped to a makeshift bed. Tillman nodded and they took Sinnott’s body away as if he’d never been there, only to return minutes later to begin scrubbing at the mess on the floor.

  ‘In there,’ instructed Lambert.

  They made their way through to the oak-panelled office where Tillman took a seat on a large leather-bound armchair. ‘Tell me how the hell we got into this situation?’ he said.

  Lambert told him about the discovery at the Manor. How the case stretched back to the suicide of Alistair Newlyn.

  ‘What tipped you off about Sinnott?’

  Lambert shared what he’d learnt about DI Greene’s investigation into Waverley Manor.

  ‘Who knows you’re here?’ said Tillman.

  ‘No one.’

  Tillman snorted. ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’

  ‘Sinnott admitted his involvement to a certain extent. He denied full knowledge of the Manor but his involvement is implicit.’

  ‘And this Waverley Manor is secure at the moment?’

  ‘We can’t call it in, not yet. But we have some of the team watching it.’

  ‘Who’s on this team?’

  ‘Matilda, DI Greene, and DS Colville.’

  ‘It’s never the easy way with you, is it Lambert?

  ‘What would you have me do different? I had to make a call. If we’d made the findings of Waverley Manor public then I don’t think we’d ever find Caroline Jardine or her husband, if he’s still alive. I am sure those responsible would go into hiding.’

  Tillman stood up. ‘And you think we’ll find her now?’ he said, through gritted teeth.

  ‘Well I’m not going to stop trying. We need to arrest John Weaver.’

  ‘That’s what Sinnott told you?’

  ‘He told me that’s who he reports to. Weaver recruited him for the force. Groomed him into that position and has been handling him ever since.’

  ‘Have you lost your fucking mind, Lambert?’ said Tillman, taking a step forward. His face was deeply coloured and spit flew from his mouth as he spoke.

  Rather than making him back down, Tillman’s aggressio
n brought out the same in Lambert. ‘You’re suggesting we forget this because he’s a high-powered politician?’ said Lambert, taking a similar stance to Tillman, bracing himself for physical confrontation, which was not unheard of from the man in front of him.

  ‘What I’m saying, Lambert, is that Weaver is not the sort of man you just arrest. He has the sorts of connection you can only imagine.’

  ‘I realise that, sir,’ said Lambert with a dismissive sneer. ‘I’ve seen the pile of bones his connections have helped him collect.’

  Lambert took another step towards Tillman. They were within touching distance now, both holding their ground, snarling like pack-dogs.

  Eventually it was Tillman who backed down, shaking his head and retreating to the armchair. ‘Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve gone off record,’ he said, with a false smile.

  ‘I learnt from the best, sir.’

  Tillman snorted again and accepted what Lambert said with good grace. ‘If we want Weaver in custody, we’re going to have to go off record again,’ he said.

  ‘What do you have in mind?’ said Lambert.

  ‘I’m not sure yet. The Jardine situation necessitates that we don’t hold back. How soon can you get your team together?’

  ‘Within the hour.’

  ‘You’re still staying at that slum hole?’ said Tillman.

  ‘My apartment?’ said Lambert, not rising to the bait.

  ‘Yes, your slum hole. We’ll meet there in an hour. We’ll need to see what Weaver’s movements are like for the rest of the day.’

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Lambert met with Matilda before returning to the flat. He recounted the incident at Sinnott’s house and his conversation with Tillman.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come along with you,’ said Matilda.

  ‘I know, that’s why. Only one of us needed to risk their career.’

  ‘Ever the gentleman. So now you’re getting Glenn involved?’

  ‘Are you going to be OK working with him?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘It’s just with your…’

  ‘Yes?’ said Matilda, tilting her head to the side and enjoying Lambert’s discomfort.