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case. ‘What sort of things?’ she asked, keeping her tone neutral.
    ‘Let’s just say he did things Eustace wouldn’t do. I don’t know what the term is… S and M? I asked her to stop telling me after a time, I couldn’t look Charles in the face.’
    Matilda tried not to snigger at the sourness spreading across the woman’s face. ‘It would be helpful if you can give me some more details,’ she said, gently. ‘It could really help us.’
    ‘I used to drown her out when she’d tell me things but he used to tie her up. I don’t think it was anything too serious but she was always on about ropes and ties and what have you. Once she even mentioned he’d bought a pair of handcuffs.’

Chapter 7
    Lambert alighted from the DLR at Canary Wharf station. Towering glass structures surrounded him on every side as he walked by the river. Kennedy had called him whilst he’d been on the train but he’d yet to check his voicemail. He was still suspicious of her earlier meeting with Tillman. There was something in the way she’d left Tillman’s office which had annoyed him. If the meeting had to do with anything about the case then Lambert should have been informed. It wasn’t proper protocol and Lambert had a distinct feeling that he wasn’t yet fully trusted by his old colleague and superior, Tillman.
    There had been a number of discrepancies Tillman had helped him with on the Souljacker case, not least a dead body found in Lambert’s house. Tillman had questioned him extensively before allowing him to rejoin the NCA. He’d told Lambert it was the right time to return, but Lambert knew the man well enough not to take everything he said at face value.
    The midday sun bounced off the glass panels and a drip of sweat tumbled down Lambert’s forehead. He wiped it away with a brush of his hand, for a moment feeling completely isolated. Work had helped divert his attention but still his thoughts returned to his wife and her newborn child. The thought of Chloe’s sister made him feel even more alone. He tried to shake the sense that Sophie would start a new life away from him and he would be left with his desolate bedsit and what remained of his career.
    He walked through the revolving doors to the press building and after signing in took the lift to the fortieth floor. The doors pinged open to a hive of activity. A vast, open-plan workspace, filled with journalists working at their laptops and PCs. It was a stark contrast to the press rooms of old – the smoky, booze-fuelled workplaces where the hacks used to scratch out stories amongst the background of expletive banter. No one paid any attention as he walked across the office floor. He smirked as he passed a row of journalists working at stand-up desks, and knocked on an office door at the other end of the room.
    A young woman, late twenties at most, opened the door and appraised him, assessing him in one quick glance as if she could see directly into his soul. ‘DCI Lambert?’ she said, holding out her hand.
    Lambert shook hands, trying hard to hide his confusion.
    ‘Mia Helmer. You look surprised, Mr Lambert.’
    ‘Sorry, old habit. I’m ashamed to say I was expecting someone…’
    ‘More male?’ said the woman, showing him into her office.
    ‘Actually no. I was going to say, older, but I guess that’s not appropriate either.’
    The woman took a seat behind a vast glass desk, adorned only by a laptop. Her face broke into a smile for the briefest of seconds before returning to her default look, which was an unreadable mask. ‘You wanted to speak to me about Eustace?’ she said pointing to a seat opposite.
    ‘Yes, thank you for seeing me at such short notice. I’m afraid it is really crucial that this conversation is off the record for the time being.’
    Mia raised her eyebrows. Helmer was the crime editor for the paper, Sackville’s direct line manager. ‘So what do you have to tell me?’ she said, noncommittal.
    ‘I’m afraid Mr Sackville’s