Dead Lucky by Matt Brolly Page B

the man cutting Moira Sackville, could hear the sound of the knife tearing at her flesh.
    Matilda understood this way of thinking was dangerous. For all they knew at present, Eustace’s description of events could have been a fabrication. They had yet to rule him out as a suspect. It was feasible that he was the one responsible for Moira’s death. That he had tied her up and had somehow managed to inflict the cuff marks on his own wrists as a defence. It was possible the scene Matilda was replaying in her mind was a lie.
    She thought about the lawyer, Charles Robinson and his affair with Moira Sackville. Again, images played in her head like memories. Secret rendezvous, the bedroom games which had so appalled Prue McKenzie. She tried to picture Robinson as the intruder but couldn’t visualise it. He’d left a poor first impression on her but he was too much of a coward to have killed Moira. The way he’d tried to distance himself from her murder, offering a former client to distract them from him. Even the way he talked, the practised confidence, the silky charisma. He was like a chimera, – but again, they couldn’t rule him out. She had to shake the images of the murder from her head, and follow the facts.
    ‘Don’t mind, do you?’ DC Donald Walker took a seat opposite her. ‘How goes it Sergeant?’
    Walker had been a member of her team for over two years. Last year they had both competed for a vacant sergeant position. Matilda was sure Walker had never forgiven her for winning.
    ‘What do you want, Walker?’
    ‘Just checking how your work with Lambert is going. Is he treating you right?’
    Matilda sighed, deciding to get straight to the point. ‘Is this to do with the sergeant test again?’
    Walker fidgeted in his chair, picked at his infuriatingly manicured beard. ‘We all know how you got that position, Kennedy.’
    Matilda smiled. She’d attained the position through sheer hard work and results. Walker’s tendency to open his mouth before thinking was one of the reasons he’d yet to be promoted. She adopted her most patronising tone, knowing it would get to Walker. ‘Look, Don, I can’t help it that I was deemed to be the most suitable for the position. Maybe next time, yeah?’ She rolled her eyes upwards, enjoying Walker’s discomfort.
    Walker nodded his head a few times. ‘You should have taken me up on my offer that time, you wouldn’t be speaking to me like that if you had.’
    Matilda stared hard at the man. He was referring to the last Christmas party where he’d had too many mulled wines and had made a fumbled pass at her. ‘You were lucky I didn’t report you then. I’d watch what I said, if I were you.’
    ‘Oh, fuck off, Kennedy,’ he whispered through gritted teeth.
    Matilda took a bite of her congealed jacket potato, and looked down at her paper.
    Walked waited a beat and eventually took the hint.
    She watched him leave in her peripheral vision, not lifting her head until she was sure he’d left the canteen. She tensed her arm, noting her hand was trembling. She should report him. She’d heard whispers from a couple of other female officers that the Christmas party was not an isolated incident, but she had to be careful. However progressive the Met presented itself, it was still male dominated. Complaints of sexual harassment were treated seriously, but there was always the risk of being ostracised. The worst he’d done to her was make a silly pass, which hadn’t bothered her that much. It was not enough to take it further, but she couldn’t help thinking that his behaviour might escalate, if not with her then with someone else.
    Lambert called, distracting her. They agreed to meet at Lordship Lane in two hours. She returned to the office, and was about to start researching Charles Robinson when a booming voice called to her from the other end of the room.
    ‘Sergeant Kennedy. My office. Now,’ said Tillman.

Chapter 10
    Lambert stopped at a newsagent on Lordship Lane