‘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.
The rush of adrenaline from speaking to Sarah had faded, and he realised how tired he was. He bought another coffee from the hospital outlet, and headed towards the secure area where Sackville was being treated.
Nervous guy had left, and a WPC had joined the young DC Shah. Lambert didn’t bother with introductions. ‘Update?’
‘A few coming and goings,’ said Shah, handing him a report sheet. ‘Nurses, food, Dr Patel, and a psychiatrist, Dr Byatt. They want to discharge him, sir.’
Lambert entered the room. Sackville was sitting up in bed watching daytime television. ‘You’re feeling better I hear?’
Sackville lifted his head. He looked worse than yesterday, his pale skin mottled and blotchy, his eyes sunken and lifeless. Lambert didn’t envy the man. He had no family left, and his career was fading. The rest of his life would be haunted by memories of his wife’s murder. All the counselling in the world wouldn’t change that.
‘You remember our conversation yesterday?’
‘They called it an interrogation in the war,’ said Sackville, a crack of a smile appearing on his face.
‘May I?’ said Lambert, taking a seat. ‘Sorry about that, I needed as much information as possible.’
‘Have you told Prue?’
‘Yes. I’ve also spoken to your editor.’
‘I know.’ Sackville pointed to a bouquet in the corner of the room.
‘Your editor’s young.’
‘Mia? Young in age maybe, but she has an old soul. An old, deathless soul.’
‘Yes, she seemed happy go lucky,’ said Lambert, sharing the joke. ‘She mentioned you‘re working on something at the moment but wouldn’t go into much detail.’
‘Don’t get her started on journalistic sources, though I have to say I agree with her. Why did you want to know?’
‘We have to look at all angles, obviously. Mia mentioned you’ve been investigating the Blake family.’
Sackville’s face dropped. ‘What did you give her for that, an exclusive?’
‘She didn’t reveal anything. Told me to speak to you directly if I wanted any details.’
‘I’ve been investigating Curtis Blake on and off all my life.’
‘Mia mentioned something about people trafficking. Blake updating his empire?’
‘She hasn’t quite grasped it, and I’m afraid there isn’t much of a story.’
‘Who is he working with?’
‘Listen, I don’t like Curtis Blake, and I don’t respect him. In fact, I despise what he does and what he’s done.’
‘But?’
‘Some of these new guys. They have no boundaries. You must know that?’
Lambert had seen many things he wished he hadn’t over the years. As far as he was concerned, there had never been any boundaries for the majority of people he’d dealt with. The notion of the idealistic British criminal was the stuff of fiction. He was sure Eustace knew that as well as he did. ‘Justice is blind, Eustace. If they’re wrong, they’re wrong.’
‘There are degrees of wrongness, as you well know.’
‘You’re going to have to be more specific.’
Sackville adjusted the pillows on his bed. ‘I need to get out of here. You name it – the people smuggling, trafficking, the mindless violence. The more I see, the worse it is.’
‘It’s always been that way, Eustace. Tell me what you know. Who do you have details on, who would want to do this to Moira?’
‘You don’t bloody get it, do you?’
Lambert lifted his palms. ‘Enlighten me.’
‘I’ve stopped working. Blake is just an excuse. I had a few meetings, took some notes and that’s it. Just enough work to convince Mia to keep paying me until I retire. I’m done, no stomach left.’
Lambert stood. ‘Want some water?’
Sackville shook his head, a look of disdain on his face.
‘So you have no idea who would do this?’
‘Listen, Lambert.’
Lambert paced the room, reluctant to say what had to be said. ‘What about Moira?’
Sackville tensed, colour spreading to his cheeks.
‘I need to ask. Did she have any enemies, Eustace?’
‘Don’t be bloody ridiculous.’
‘I need something, Eustace. If there isn’t a reason for this attack, if it was completely random, then we will never find out who did this to Moira. I need a motive.’
‘She was a bloody librarian.’
The man wasn’t listening. ‘Look, I’m sorry to ask this Eustace but do you know Charles Robinson?’
Sackville tensed again, and for one absurd moment Lambert thought he was about to spring at him. ‘That’s long finished,’ said Sackville, through gritted teeth.
‘So you know about him and Moira.’
‘Yes, I fucking know. She couldn’t hide her guilty conscience.’
‘When did it end?’
‘A couple of years ago.’
Lambert hid his surprise, remembering that Robinson had said it had ended a year ago. ‘Did you ever confront him?’
‘No, but then we were never in the same room together after I found out.’ Sackville took a swig of water. ‘Could do with something stronger,’ he said, wiping a drip from his face.
‘Does he know that you know?’
‘I imagine he fucking does, yes.’ Eustace scrunched his face, the memory of his wife’s infidelity somehow animating him more than her death. Something changed in his face, and he began pulling the covers from his bed. ‘Is that bastard a suspect?’ he said, trying to get to his