Dead Eyed (26 page)

‘Billy, if it was him, was in a group for victims of abuse. It was not an area I was comfortable in. The church brought in a specialist to run the session.’

‘But it was still advertised as a church group?’ asked May.

‘I suppose so.’

‘Do you remember the name of the person running the session? What organisation they were from?’ May tried to hide her growing excitement.

Davidson handed her a piece of paper.

‘This is it?’ The piece of paper had a surname scribbled onto it in biro.

‘I only knew him by his surname. This was before the days of CRBs and what have you. I didn’t know anything about the man. I saw him once a week. He left at the end of the session. The minister might know something more.’

May sighed. ‘And what about your group?’

‘I ran a support group for carers. I nursed my old mum until her dying day. A lot of young people have to do the same. I wanted to help out in any way I could.’

‘What about Billy Nolan’s friend? What do you remember about him?’

‘He was a lovely boy. Very handsome. He’d been looking after his mother as well. She’d died the year before he’d started at the University. He was such a modest young man. He claimed he shouldn’t have been at the meetings as it had basically been a joy looking after her. The poor woman had been blinded after a particularly nasty cancer and his father had passed some time before.’

‘Blinded?’

‘Yes,’ said Davidson.

‘Do you remember the boy’s name.’

‘Of course. It was Simon Klatzky.’

May rushed back to the church and questioned Landsdale. Bradbury had finished packing the last of the boxes. She updated him on what Davidson had told her. ‘Go through each document. We need to locate the counsellor in charge of Billy Nolan’s sessions.’

‘And you?’

‘I need to go to London.’

She caught the first available train from Temple Meads. She called Superintendent Rush, informed him she was heading to London and told him to put out an urgent arrest warrant on Simon Klatzky.

She checked her email, in time to see a message from Sean. She sighed. It was becoming a pressing problem that she needed to solve. Their confrontation on The Triangle in Clifton had shaken her more than she’d realised at the time. Something about the way his face changed when she’d told him where to go, had given her cause to worry.

She didn’t fear a direct confrontation. Sean didn’t work that way. His attack would be covert. He’d suggested that he’d make the abortion public knowledge. Although she’d laughed it off, it would make things difficult for her. For one, she had never declared it on any medical form, or during any psych evaluation. That fact alone could put her in a heap of trouble.

She ignored the email, deciding she would meet the man when the case was completed, vowing she would then eliminate him from her life for good.

At Paddington station, she caught the tube to Holborn and took a short walk to the building of Barker and Price Solicitors. The foyer was as grandiose as a five-star hotel. Two glass elevators stretched into the heavens. May waited in a short line to speak to one of the firm’s receptionists. A young Asian man, dressed in a sharp pinstripe suit with a white turban wrapped around his head, asked how he could be of service.

‘I would like to speak to Sophie Lambert,’ said May.

‘Do you have an appointment?’

May showed the man her warrant card. ‘My name is DI May. Please inform Mrs Lambert that I would like to see her immediately.’

The receptionist didn’t hesitate. ‘Please take a seat,’ he said, pointing to a row of plush leather armchairs.

Two minutes later, a woman approached her. ‘DI May? My name is Matilda Sanford. I am Mrs Lambert’s PA. If you would like to follow me, Mrs Lambert is waiting for you.’

They took the elevator to the thirty-sixth floor of the building. Sanford’s perfume, a faint scent of rose, filled the interior of the elevator. The woman stood a respectful distance away from her, and didn’t instigate any conversation.

The door pinged open, and Sanford walked her down a deserted corridor to a glass-panelled office. ‘DI May to see you,’ she said, to the woman sitting alone in the office.

‘Thank you, Matilda. DI May? Sophie Lambert. How may I be of assistance?’

The woman’s handshake was firm but not overly so. A petite woman, Sophie Lambert had large intense eyes. She exuded confidence. It was not the high-powered business suit and killer heels she wore. Sophie Lambert was one of the rare breed of people May sometimes encountered. She had an aura about her, a quality which was hard to define in specifics. May imagined the woman had a very loyal clientele. She was the sort of person people wanted to be around.

‘Please excuse the unannounced visit. I’m here about your husband.’

A brief look of concern appeared on Sophie Lambert’s face, and disappeared as if it had never been there. ‘You better sit down then,’ she said.

Chapter 35

Lambert considered what Bardsley had told him. ‘So Stoddard’s persisting with his Campbell theory?’

‘Seems that way. Problem is, he doesn’t know what Campbell looks like. Doesn’t even have a first name. It’s a pointless exercise searching for someone who may not exist,’ replied Bardsley.

Tell me about it, thought Lambert. He decided not to tell Bardsley about the photos which had been sent to Klatzky. If the killer was trying to get his attention, then involving Bardsley might divert his attention. The Souljacker had been dormant for eighteen years. It was conceivable he could disappear again. He couldn’t take the risk.

He asked Bardsley to keep him involved and hung up. He’d missed a call from Sophie. She hadn’t left a message so he didn’t call back. He sent a text message to Klatzky instructing him to return to the house as soon as possible.

He met Cormack Riley in the same coffee shop where Klatzky had shown him the photos. It was less than a week ago but felt like another age. ‘Bit posh here,’ said the man, holding out his hand. ‘Sorry, I ordered ahead,’ he added, nodding to his cup of coffee.

‘No worries, thanks for coming all the way out here.’

Riley wore faded jeans, and an ancient cotton shirt with faded vertical lines. He had thin, wispy brown hair. His face was sun-burnt, the red skin pocketed with old acne scars. ‘I was surprised when you called. Haven’t heard about you for a time.’

‘I’ve been off work for a couple of years now.’

Riley wiped a line of froth off his lip, nodding slightly. The officer would know about his leave of absence. ‘So what’s this all about?’

‘As I mentioned on the phone, I’m working on the Souljacker case.’

Riley kept his gaze steady on Lambert. ‘Before we continue, can I confirm your involvement is not official?’

‘Is that a problem?’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘It’s complicated,’ said Lambert.

Riley wiped his hand across his mouth again. ‘I imagine it is. Tell me what you want to know and we’ll go from there.’

‘You worked on the Billy Nolan case, back in Bristol?’

Riley swallowed. ‘Yes, why do you think I work in vice now? I saw the next twenty years of my life visiting shit-smelling crime scenes, and worse-smelling autopsies, and thought I’d get out.’

‘How’s that panning out?’

Riley smirked. ‘Now I visit shit-smelling crack dens and whorehouses. The dead bodies I see are normally a result of self-harm. It’s a fucking picnic.’

‘So the Nolan case,’ said Lambert, getting back on track.

‘Yeah, that was a wild one. You were a suspect as I remember?’

Lambert held up his hands. ‘No charge.’

Riley didn’t smile. ‘It was all very fragmented, I remember that. The SIO had lost some of his team. I was called in along with some other new faces. The SIO, Hastings, wasn’t happy. I don’t think it was his choice. The Souljacker was getting a lot of press at that point, and we were nowhere near to catching him. He left us nothing. No discernible motive, no link between the victims…’

‘No link between the victims?’

‘No. Billy Nolan was a third year University student. The previous victim, David Welsh, was a twenty-eight-year-old divorced welder from Congresbury. The pressure was intense. There was talk of Hastings losing his position.’

Lambert had never realised Hastings had been under pressure, though it made complete sense. ‘David Welsh was a member of a church, like some of the others.’

Riley shrugged, and folded his arms. ‘Billy Nolan wasn’t.’

‘Did you look at the others?’

Riley’s didn’t respond immediately. ‘What is this? Are you with IIU?’

Lambert couldn’t tell if Riley was joking or not. The IIU were the force’s internal investigation team. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m looking for anything that may have been missed from the older cases, something that could relate to the two new murders. No one’s under investigation, Cormack. I imagine I’d have to inform you if that was the case.’ Lambert was surprised by Riley’s defensiveness.

‘I can tell you, there was nothing we missed. You forget, there were eight cases prior to Nolan. The victims’ histories were explored thoroughly. Hastings was meticulous. Have you spoken to him?’

‘Yes, of course. I’m trying to speak to everyone involved in all those all cases.’

Riley unfolded his arms. ‘What’s that old bastard up to now?’

‘He’s a writer.’

‘Oh yeah, I heard about that.’ Riley lifted his head, his tone softening. ‘If I could read, I’d buy one of his books.’

‘What was he like as SIO?’ asked Lambert, pressing the officer whilst he was still in improved humour.

‘No problems. Very level-headed, methodical. I only saw him lose his rag once.’

‘Oh right?’

‘One of the WPCs. She had some information about something or other. I can’t remember what it was. He freaked out, real Jekyll and Hyde stuff. Made the poor girl cry. I’ve seen it hundreds of times, but it was a bit strange seeing it from him. I could tell then that the pressure was getting to him.’

Lambert struggled to picture Hastings losing his temper. ‘It’s a long shot, but do you remember the name Campbell ever being mentioned in the investigation?’

‘A long shot? It was twenty years ago. You have anything more?’

‘The name Campbell keeps cropping up. Nothing more at the moment.’

Riley sighed. ‘Let me see what I can unearth. I’ve kept all my notebooks. If I can locate them, I’ll take a look. See if I can find any mention of a Campbell.’

Lambert returned to his house via Croydon Rec. The playground area was busy, the local families enjoying the sunshine.

As he approached his front door, he was surprised to see Sarah May was outside waiting for him. She wore a tailored trouser suit, her hair tied back tightly in a ponytail.

‘I thought you were in Bristol,’ he said. ‘Did you follow me back on the train?’

‘You do have a high opinion of yourself sometimes, you know.’ She was smiling, but not in the casual way he’d seen on previous occasions. There was a shift in her body language, a rigidity to the way she stood.

Lambert didn’t know how to respond. He’d obviously pissed her off.

‘Are you going to invite me in or not?’

‘Sorry, please,’ said Lambert holding the door open for her.

She moved past him and waited in the hallway. He brushed past her. ‘Coffee?’

‘That would be heavenly,’ she said, relaxing slightly.

‘I take it this is business,’ he said, grinding beans for the cafetiere.

‘There are a couple of developments,’ said May, taking a seat on a high-backed chair next to the breakfast counter. ‘First of all I’d like to thank you for your assistance, however indirect it may have been.’

‘How’s that?’ asked Lambert. He didn’t like the formal way she talked to him, as if they hadn’t spent any time alone together.

‘It seems that, how shall we put it, your investigation into Sandra Vernon may have paid some dividends.’

Lambert poured hot water onto the ground coffee beans, the sharp aroma filling the room. ‘That was quick. I’ve only just returned from Bristol myself.’

‘We don’t twiddle our thumbs in the West Country,’ said May, accepting the cup of coffee from Lambert. ‘We’ve a warrant for the church. One of the counsellors who still works there all but confirmed that Billy Nolan attended counselling session there when he was at University.’

‘Name?’

‘Sally Davidson.’

‘She knew Nolan?’

‘She remembered his murder. She didn’t counsel him but is pretty sure he attended the church.’

‘She didn’t contact the police?’

‘No.’

Lambert ran a hand through his hair. ‘Christ. What were the sessions for?’

‘The one she thinks Nolan attended were for victims of sexual abuse.’

Lambert remembered what Klatzky had told him. He still couldn’t believe Billy had kept such a secret all that time. ‘What did she remember?’

‘She remembered Terrence Haydon was also there on those nights. She’s known him since he was a boy. She verified his role as glorified coffee assistant. Nothing more. She used to run a second session at the same time Nolan attended his session. A help group for carers. Sick relatives, that sort of thing.’

‘But she didn’t deal with Nolan directly?’

‘No, they brought it in a specialist. She claimed to be surprised that no one investigated the church following his murder.’

‘But she didn’t think to come forward? Jesus Christ. You should arrest her for obstruction. Terrence Haydon and Sandra Hopkins could be alive if it wasn’t for her.’

May’s face hardened. ‘I share your anger, Michael, believe me.’

Lambert paced the kitchen, spilling coffee onto the laminated floor. ‘Who oversaw Billy’s meetings?’ he said, forcing himself to calm.

May didn’t answer directly. ‘There’s something else. There was someone in her group who was particularly friendly with Billy Nolan. Someone you know.’

Lambert rubbed the bridge of his nose, the answer dawning on him. ‘Simon? You’re kidding me?’

‘Do you know where Klatzky is, Michael?’

Lambert deflected the question. ‘Did she mention anyone else?’

‘No. She couldn’t confirm or deny that Sandra Hopkins attended sessions there. We showed her pictures of all the former victims but no luck. You’re not answering me about Simon Klatzky?’