Dead Eyed (11 page)

‘You’re the driver,’ said the man Lance had spoken to on the phone.

Lance nodded.

‘New instructions. Leave the van here.’ He gave Lance a set of keys, and a piece of paper with an address on it. ‘It’s on the main road. You can go through the front door.’

Lance left the building alone.

Chapter 13

Although the remark had been flippant, it was conceivable that one of May’s colleagues had monitored him leaving the hotel and relayed the information to their superior.

‘How can you ask me that, Michael, after last night?’ replied May, a mischievous lilt to her voice. ‘Actually, I was wondering if you could pop into the office when you are free. We have someone here you might wish to speak to.’ She refused to divulge any more details.

Lambert pulled over and checked his rear-view mirror. It didn’t seem as if anyone was following him. Deciding to postpone his visit to Haydon’s father until later, he drove the short distance to Sarah May’s police station. He parked the car and walked into the station. They had moved the incident room from the newer police headquarters in Portishead, to the central station on Bridewell Street.

‘Michael Lambert to see DI May,’ he said, to the duty sergeant.

The duty sergeant studied him as if verifying he was actually there. ‘You’re Michael Lambert?’ he said, as if something about his appearance made this unlikely.

‘I’m here at her request,’ he said, his tone dropping an octave as he locked onto the sergeant’s gaze.

The sergeant scratched a line of hair which fell from his chin. ‘Inspector May’s expecting you?’ he asked, as if Lambert had yet to speak.

Lambert pinched his nose, blinked his eyes. ‘Do you need to see some identification, Sergeant? Pick up the phone and speak to her. She called me ten minutes ago.’ Up close, he could smell the fetid breath of the man who had probably been at the desk all night. He could excuse the coldness in the man’s tone, it was his station and Lambert was an outsider, but drew a line at disrespect.

The sergeant scratched his chin again, his eyes not leaving Lambert’s, as if he was too tired to turn his face away. Lambert was about to reach over and strike the man into action when a door to Lambert’s left buzzed open. ‘Second floor.’

May stood at the top of the stairs, waiting. ‘Michael, how are you?’ she asked, immaculate in a sharp grey suit.

‘So what’s the great mystery?’ he asked, though he had a good idea why she’d asked to see him.

‘Come on through.’

The open-plan office was alive with sleep-starved officers already busy on their phones, punching keys on their computers. ‘What’s going on in here?’

May rubbed her eyes. ‘There was a bit of fun last night on the Frenton Estate. Three men were involved in a fight.’

‘And that’s unusual?’

‘Obviously not. We arrested one of the men, had to take him to hospital with a broken leg and wrist.’

The sound of the man’s leg snapping echoed again in Lambert’s head. He couldn’t feel any remorse for what he’d done. He’d been under attack, and in many ways the two men had escaped lightly. After joining The Group, Tillman had insisted that Lambert undergo extensive special operations training. He’d spent three months in the UK, followed by a ten-week course in the States. He’d been trained to use extreme force when under attack and in many ways he’d held back last night. Lambert shrugged. ‘And?’

‘Only he escaped from the hospital this morning.’

‘I see,’ said Lambert. The incident explained the frantic scenes in the office, and the tired looks on May’s colleagues. Lambert imagined there hadn’t been much security at the hospital. It suggested that there were more than two of them involved, as it was unlikely that the Mediterranean-looking man had helped the injured man escape alone. ‘Was he under arrest at the time?’

‘We were waiting to question him.’

‘Could be worse,’ said Lambert.

‘It’s the last thing I need at the moment, though,’ said May.

A sea of faces watched Lambert as he followed May into the open-plan office. He recognised the unwelcoming glare of police officers when a stranger entered their home turf all too well. The eyes analysed him, reached conclusions. Lambert had been a suspect on the original Souljacker case and here he was again. Most of the office would know about his past and possibly considered him a suspect now. He would have thought that being one of them, albeit on a leave of absence, would give him some dispensation. At the moment, he couldn’t tell.

A straight-backed man, in his early sixties stood and greeted him. ‘Michael Lambert,’ he said, his face not betraying any sense of emotion.

‘I thought it might be you, sir,’ said Lambert, shaking hands with the retired Chief Superintendent, Julian Hastings. Lambert hadn’t seen the man in over ten years. Time had softened him a bit. His stomach carried more weight and his face was rounder than before, but his eyes had retained their sharp quality.

‘Inspector May here wanted a quick chat with me about this new incident. She mentioned you were back in town.’

‘Yes, visiting old haunts.’

‘Take a seat,’ said May. Three other officers sat around the table with Hastings but no further introductions were made.

May stood at the head of the table. An incident board hung on the wall behind her decorated with pictures of the ten Souljacker victims, before and after their attacks. Various lines had been added onto the board linking the photos with other images at the periphery of the board: former victims, family members, friends, colleagues, and potential suspects. Lambert had studied an almost replica version of the board on The System back at his hotel. He’d analysed each link and knew the past histories of everyone involved.

‘Chief Superintendent Hastings has been helping us fill in some missing gaps on the previous Souljacker murders,’ said May.

Lambert noted the predominantly male workforce. ‘What have you learnt?’ asked Lambert.

‘Not much I’m afraid, Michael,’ said Hastings. His voice was an octave lower than the last time they’d met, now a gravelly tenor. ‘These guys are pretty thorough.’

‘You’re being modest there, sir,’ said May. ‘But we thought you may be able to add to what Chief Superintendent Hastings has told us, Mr Lambert.’ The sociable, even flirtatious May he’d dined with the previous evening had disappeared.

‘How can I help?’

‘As you can imagine, we’re trying to find a link between the old victims and Terrence Haydon. Chief Superintendent Hastings can find no mention of Haydon in his previous notes, apart from a brief statement from him. Did Haydon and Billy Nolan know each other?’

‘They knew each other,’ said Lambert, ‘though not very well as far as I’m aware. Haydon lived one floor above Billy at University and he wasn’t really in Billy’s social circle. My social circle. I thought that would have been in your notes, sir.’ It should also have been in May’s notes, as he had told her as much the previous day.

Hastings turned towards him, the slightest nod of his head.

‘Is there any way they could have known each other outside your social circle?’ said May.

‘Such as?’

‘Any groups they may have gone to, classes they may have shared?’

Lambert thought about the church angle May had mentioned last night. ‘Terrence studied theology, Billy studied English. Their paths wouldn’t have crossed in lectures. ‘I don’t know if Terrence was a member of any club or association. From what I know of Billy, and from what I remember about Haydon, their interests were not very similar. I do remember one thing though.’

May tilted her head, signalling him to continue.

‘I remember Haydon commenting on the smell of incense once we’d broken down Billy’s door. He said it was like the incense they used in church.’

The police officers exchanged glances. Lambert waited for them to share their information about the stolen incense which had appeared on The System earlier that morning.

‘So Haydon saw the crime scene?’ asked May.

‘Yes. A lot of the students had a peek before the police arrived, those who could stomach it. I imagine most wished they hadn’t afterwards.’

‘And you remember him specifically commenting on the incense?’ said May.

‘It was a long time ago, but I seem to remember it was him that noticed it. Most of us didn’t go to church. We thought it was standard student stuff, the embers of a joss stick. I think it was frankincense or something?’

‘Pontifical Incense,’ said one of the detectives sitting to May’s right, a surly-looking man in a cheap linen suit.

‘DS Bradbury,’ said May.

Lambert nodded at the detective who didn’t acknowledge the gesture.

May sat down, the lightness returning to her eyes. ‘Whilst you’re here, Mr Lambert, maybe we could take advantage of your experience.’ She acted like they hadn’t met the previous evening, hadn’t already discussed the case in full. It was possible she hadn’t told Bradbury about their meeting, or that it was a show for Hastings.

‘I’m here to help,’ said Lambert.

‘Before you arrived, we were discussing the possible motivation for the killer starting again eighteen years on.’

‘My initial thought would be unfinished business. It’s possible that Haydon was his original target, not Nolan,’ said Lambert. Though not entirely convinced by this theory, he wanted to gauge the reaction in the room.

Hastings’ face remained impassive.

‘And he waited eighteen years to correct his mistake?’ sneered DS Bradbury.

‘Who knows what he’s been up to during that time? Maybe he was close to being discovered after Nolan’s murder. Perhaps he was spooked, was waiting for the Chief Super here to retire.’

Hastings didn’t respond.

‘Perhaps we should move on to your friend, Mr Lambert,’ said Bradbury, rubbing a loose strand of black hair from his forehead. The DS lacked subtlety. The mood in the room had changed in an instant from a friendly, professional consultation, to something of an interrogation. Lambert allowed it to continue, kept his body language neutral.

‘Which friend?’

‘Simon Klatzky.’

Lambert crossed his arms and waited for the DS to elaborate.

May sent Bradbury a warning look but the DC composed himself and continued. ‘Were you aware that Mr Klatzky has an outstanding arrest warrant?’

‘I wasn’t, no. What for?’

‘He failed to turn up at a Magistrate’s hearing.’

May raised her shoulders apologetically. ‘Oh, what charge?’ asked Lambert.

‘Shoplifting.’

‘Did you not think to pick him up yesterday? I thought you knew he was with me,’ said Lambert. Although unfazed by the questioning, the inconsistency of it all was beginning to annoy him.

‘We couldn’t care less about his arrest warrant,’ said Bradbury. ‘We’re keen to know what he’s doing with you, what you’re both doing here.’

‘Thank you, Jack,’ said May, trying to ease the growing tension. ‘What DS Bradbury is really asking is, is there anything we should know about Klatzky? Did he have a relationship with Nolan in any way?’

‘Well, they were best friends, Inspector. I think that is common knowledge.’

‘And Haydon?’

‘Again, we were a close-knit group. There were six of us, and Haydon had no part in that group. We would only ever see him in the halls. Klatzky would be better able to answer that for himself.’

‘You have no reason to believe that Klatzky would want to hurt Terrence Haydon in any way?’ asked Bradbury. ‘Maybe settle some old score from University?’

‘You will need to be more specific. What old score could they have?’

‘A girl or something?’

Lambert sighed. ‘Have you seen the photos of Klatzky at University? Or now? This is not someone who has ever had trouble with girls, or anyone for that matter. Read your reports more carefully.’ He stood up, tired of the interrogation, the rudeness of Bradbury’s approach, the general ineptitude. ‘Well, thanks for the meeting.’

‘Sit down, Mr Lambert,’ said Bradbury, placing his hand on Lambert’s arm.

Lambert tensed. ‘Remove your hand,’ he said.

‘Or what?’ said Bradbury.

‘Sit down, DS Bradbury,’ said May. ‘Thanks for your help, Mr Lambert. We’ll invite Mr Klatzky in for questioning shortly.’

Lambert exchanged a quick look with the chastened DS, then, ‘Good to see you again, sir,’ he said, turning towards Hastings, who stood to shake his hand.

‘Michael.’

As Lambert walked towards the exit, an officer rushed through the door, shoulder-charging him out of the way. ‘Inspector, you have to see this,’ he said, handing a piece of folded paper to May.

Lambert waited by the door as May read the note.

Bradbury walked over and with a mocking smile slammed the door shut in his face.

Chapter 14

Lambert started the car and sped away from the station. His pulse raced and he opened the car’s window, the early morning breeze cooling his skin. He clenched the steering wheel as he pictured DS Bradbury slamming the door in his face, and laughed as he realised he was overacting. Bradbury was nothing more than a little jumpstart and would get what was coming to him. He would call May later and sort everything out. They should never have discussed Klatzky like that in front of him.

The escape from the hospital was more of a concern to him. Everything pointed to some type of team being involved. It had to relate to the Souljacker case, and that possibility opened up so many new avenues it made his head swim. New questions sprung to his mind as he drove. Did the Souljacker have a team working for him? Or was there more than one killer? Neither explanation explained why Klatzky had been sent the photos, or why the two men had followed and attacked Lambert last night.

Thirty minutes later he arrived in Weston-super-Mare. He drove along the seafront, stealing glances at an expanse of dull sand blurred into thick, brown mud. If there was any sea it was out close to the horizon. He’d visited the town occasionally whilst at University, and couldn’t remember a time when the tide had been in. He drove out of the centre until he reached the estate where Terrence Haydon’s father resided. Roger Haydon lived in a red brick house identical to a line of other buildings, all of which had been purpose-built sometime in the eighties. Weeds poked through the concrete path leading to Haydon’s front door, the smell of blocked drains in the air.