Dead Eyed (33 page)

Lambert couldn’t remember seeing so many police officers in the same room at any one time. The open-plan office was divided into three sections. On one glass-backed noticeboard was the Souljacker investigation. Pictures of Terrence Haydon, Sandra Hopkins, and the older victims, Billy Nolan included, decorated the centre of the noticeboard. Other images were on the periphery, photos of those linked to the case, including one of Lambert and a much younger photo of Simon Klatzky.

A second noticeboard showed the victims of the second killer, Kwasi Olumide, Samuel Burnham, and last night’s victim, known only as Lance. A blown-up picture of Lance glared down at him from the noticeboard. It showed in detail the rope marks on his neck, his bloated white cheeks, the line of thick thread through both his eyes and mouth. Next to him was a picture of Campbell’s body, the only picture they had for him, taken from a distance, his face obliterated by the shotgun blast.

And finally a section of the room was dedicated to DI Sarah May. A picture of the missing police woman hung on a third noticeboard.

‘Mike,’ said DCI Josh Bardsley walking over to him. ‘If there was ever a time to commit crime in Greater London it would be now,’ he said, gesturing to the officers in the room. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to face questioning this morning. The Assistant Chief Constable’s here. Shit is flowing in all directions.’

‘That’s fine with me,’ said Lambert. ‘Anything to help find Sarah.’

Bardsley walked him over to the middle section of the incident room. ‘We’ve an ID on last night’s hanging victim. Lance Crosby, forty-four. Served seven years for embezzlement in his twenties then went off the radar since his release. No known address. The man hasn’t paid tax or national insurance since leaving prison.’

‘The suicide? Campbell.’

‘Haven’t confirmed identification. However, we’ve matched his fingerprints. Present at the crime scenes of Haydon, Hopkins, Burnham, and Kwasi Olumide. His DNA was all over Lance Crosby as well.’ He hesitated, lowered his voice. ‘Look, we also found his DNA on Sean Laws.’

Lambert let the information settle. ‘You think you’ve found him, don’t you?’

‘Don’t you? Everything points to Campbell being the Souljacker and the second killer, yes,’ said Bardsley. ‘One thing still bothers me though.’

‘Why didn’t he shoot me?’ said Lambert.

‘Yes. Any thoughts yet?’

Lambert visualised the incident. He couldn’t tell Bardsley he’d had a gun as well, and didn’t think it made a difference. ‘I think he was scared.’

‘Scared? Of what?’

‘I don’t know. Being caught?’

‘He could have shot you and fled the scene. It’s not as if you had any backup.’

‘Reprimand acknowledged. Listen, Josh, I can’t offer any proof but I think Campbell was part of a team. If you think about all these recent killings, Haydon, Hopkins, Burnham, Olumide, and this Lance character, it sounds too far-fetched for me that one person is responsible,’ said Lambert.

Bardsley sighed. ‘You’ll need to give us more than that. I realise it’s a pointless question, as you’d tell if you wanted me to know, but are you holding anything back? Is there something you’re not telling me?’

Lambert considered telling Bardsley the theory he’d been working over in his head since last night. It sounded too absurd to voice at the moment. He needed something concrete before he started making accusations. ‘You’re right. I’ll tell you when I can.’

‘Okay, Michael, have it your way. At the moment this is a missing person’s case. Our focus is on where Campbell was hiding May.’

Nielson and Bardsley summoned the teams together. Nielson took the lead, explaining what everyone already knew about Campbell. ‘DI May is our priority now,’ he said. ‘She’s been missing for thirty-six hours so every minute counts.’

One of May’s team, DS Bradbury, sat in the front row of officers. He wore a brown linen suit, his face downtrodden as if he hadn’t slept in days.

‘As you know this a joint operation across three departments. I’d expect nothing less than full cooperation from everyone.’

Lambert watched the officers leave, wondering if he would ever be part of their number again.

He exchanged looks with Nielson. ‘What are you still doing here, Lambert?’

‘I want to know if there is anything I can do to help. I can be of use to you.’

‘I’m sure we’ll get your help whether we like it or not,’ said Nielson, his voice drained of animation.

Bardsley pulled Lambert to one side. ‘Don’t worry about him. He’s under a lot of pressure at the moment. First thing, I need you to work with our face recognition expert. She’ll be here in a moment. After that, the best thing you can do is to find Klatzky for us. We’ve officers checking his house again. When the bars are open we’ll be checking there. But if you could think of anything else?’

‘I’ll get looking,’ said Lambert.

‘Thanks, Mike, and when you’re ready to share…’

‘You’ll be first to know.’ Lambert shook hands with Bardsley, knowing someone from his team was probably investigating him as well.

He spent the next hour with a sketch artist. Bardsley had worked with the woman before and insisted it was worth persevering with. Every time Lambert pictured Campbell it was with the gun beneath his chin, the mask of calmness evaporating. Bardsley was right, the sketch artist was exceptional. Within the hour she’d mocked up a pencil sketch of the man which mirrored Lambert’s memory from last night. Whether it would help identify the man was another matter. They would print the finished sketch and distribute it, and would use the measurements from the picture to compare it to images on their database.

‘Mr Lambert?’

Lambert placed the finished sketch on the desk.

‘DC Rebecca Shah, sir. I’ve been asked to go through the database with you.’

Lambert handed her the completed picture and thanked the sketch artist. ‘Make copies of this first and get them distributed. We need to get the tech boys to see if they can find a match.’

Shah returned ten minutes later. ‘I’ve sent the details to all teams. We’ll get that bastard’s picture to everybody,’ she said.

Lambert didn’t answer. He’d spent the last hour concentrating on Campbell’s face, and now could think of nothing else. Those last minutes at the house still troubled him. Bardsley had mentioned it earlier. Campbell could have attempted to shoot him. He’d had nothing to lose. Something had stopped him, spooked him so much that he’d taken his own life rather than taking his chances with Lambert.

The young DC, Shah, worked through the software with him. Campbell’s picture had been sent to a specialist department who were using photo recognition software to find a match on the database. Lambert was convinced they would be unsuccessful.

‘Did you know her well?’ asked Shah.

‘I know her, yes,’ said Lambert.

‘No, sorry, I didn’t mean to speak in the past tense. It’s just, I was the last officer to see her before she left.’

‘No one’s blaming you, Shah. She was taken by the hotel.’

‘I know. Anyway, I’ll do anything to help find her.’

‘Good, let’s keep working.’

An hour later, Bradbury appeared. ‘May I have a word, sir?’

Lambert still remembered the man’s insolence at the station back in Bristol. He noted the respectful request and wondered if there was a catch.

‘My team has been doing some more work on the church in Bristol. Gracelife?’

‘I’ve had the pleasure of visiting that establishment, yes.’

‘Following the information you uncovered about the counselling sessions, we contacted the churches linked to the other victims to see if they ran any counselling sessions. We’ve had a hit with one in Congresbury.’

Lambert recalled talking to Cormack Riley about the twenty-eight-year-old welder. The victim before Billy Nolan. ‘David Welsh?’ asked Lambert.

‘Yes, sir. The parish priest is still there. He says Welsh went to counselling sessions, and a man called Campbell worked there as a counsellor in the early nineties.’

Lambert’s heartbeat increased. ‘Great. Have we sent the sketch of Campbell over yet?’

‘I’ve emailed it. We’re checking all the other churches now.’

Chapter 46

Lambert called Bardsley and told him about David Welsh. ‘I think we need to revisit every Souljacker victim. See if we can make a link with counselling sessions.’

‘Agreed. Either way, it all points to Campbell,’ said Bardsley.

‘I don’t think he was acting alone, Josh. It doesn’t add up.’

Bardsley ignored him. ‘We’ve still had no luck on identifying him. Hopefully, your sketch will help. It’s out nationwide, and we’ve arranged a press conference for this afternoon. We’ll get it out on television.’

Lambert hung up. He tried not to blame himself but knew that if he’d managed to keep Campbell alive, then he could have led them to Sarah May. He gave his number to DC Shah. ‘Call as soon as you hear from Bradbury or anyone else,’ he told her.

He couldn’t face going home. He returned to the car and checked the boot for the gun. Relieved it was still there, he sat behind the steering wheel trying to clear his thoughts. He tried Klatzky but as usual the phone went straight to answerphone. Everything about the previous night still bothered him. He’d been manipulated. The note Kwasi had left his widow had guided him to the house just in time to see Lance’s body.

Campbell had committed suicide rather than shooting him. Despite Bardsley’s protestations, he knew this was significant. Something had scared Campbell so much, that even death was a better alternative. Lambert was convinced that thing was the Souljacker.

He needed to see two people: Kwasi’s widow, Laney Richardson, and Myles Stoddard, who had pointed him to Richardson in the first place. He decided to visit the latter first. Stoddard had hid something from him yesterday. He was an inexpert liar and Lambert chided himself for not pushing him further in the bar.

He was about to set off when someone knocked on the car’s side window.

Cormack Riley stood on the pavement. Still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, Riley held a stack of papers in his hand.

Lambert wound down the window. ‘Cormack.’

‘Am I supposed to be speaking to you?’ asked Riley.

‘You tell me.’

Riley handed him the sheets of paper. ‘You made me think the other day, and I don’t like what I’ve discovered. Should I be going to Bardsley with this?’

Lambert scanned the papers which detailed some of the investigation in the Billy Nolan case. Nothing he read had appeared in the official records. It was all general stuff. Some more details of the students who’d been in the halls when Nolan’s body had been discovered. Lambert read details on his own interview, which had been reported in the initial report. He then flicked through to the entry for Terrence Haydon, and saw something he couldn’t quite believe. ‘Can you leave this with me, Cormack?’

Cormack stared at him, his face passive. They didn’t know each other well. Riley was scrutinising him, making a decision on whether he could be trusted. ‘Why should I do that?’

‘Look, I realise it’s unusual, but I came to you with this. You’ve read the report. Who else are you going to trust?’

Cormack didn’t move. He swayed on the spot as if stuck in place. ‘I’ve made copies. I’ll check back in twenty-four hours. I’m giving it to Bardsley if there’s no progress.’

Lambert’s body twitched as he drove to Crouch End. Each red light or badly driven vehicle provoked an outburst. All those months in therapy following Chloe’s death had been wasted. Following her death, his life had been fuelled by an unquenchable rage. He’d vented it by starting fights with strangers, travelling to bars in areas where he wasn’t welcome. Violence became a drug to him, a way of deadening, if only a little, the pain of losing his daughter. Now, after reading the files from Riley, that pain was returning.

The car in front slowed down and turned right without indicating. Lambert slammed on the brakes and pushed the car’s horn. He started swearing at the driver, slamming his fist onto the dashboard and waving it wildly in front of him so the driver could see his displeasure in their rear-view mirror.

As the car turned, Lambert made out the form of an elderly woman, hunched over her steering wheel, oblivious to his pathetic complaints. He kept his temper intact for the rest of the journey, bottled it up ready to unleash it on Stoddard.

He gave no warning this time. He parked the car fifty yards from the garage where Stoddard worked, and jogged down the uneven path which led to the Portakabin and the garages.

He didn’t bother with the Portakabin. He stormed through the first of the garages. An ancient hatchback was raised onto a plinth, two grease-covered mechanics studying the car’s under carriage as if debating the intricacies of some vast puzzle. To Lambert’s right, a third figure disappeared out of a side entrance.

Lambert sighed then shouted at the figure. ‘Wait, Myles.’ Lambert stepped out of the garage to see Stoddard’s figure disappearing up the stone pathway.

‘Stop, Myles. I need to talk to you,’ he said, trying to keep his tone neutral and calm, knowing his appearance betrayed him.

Stoddard chose not to listen. Lambert swore to himself, and took up the chase. Stoddard had headed off in the direction of Lambert’s car. Lambert began at a steady pace, enough to keep Stoddard in his line of vision, and waited for the man to stop running. Stoddard knew Lambert would not leave it at this. That he would find him either at work or at home, so running away from him was pointless. But still he continued. Stoddard sprinted across the road into the entrance of a local park.

Lambert upped his run into a sprint and followed Stoddard as the man darted into a bank of trees. He was younger than Lambert but was not in the same shape as him. He stumbled through the undergrowth, his pace slowing.

‘Stop, Myles, for Christ’s sake. This isn’t doing you any favours.’

The man glanced back at him, losing his footing. He tripped over a loose rock and tumbled head first into the trunk of an oak tree. Lambert sprinted forward, Stoddard scrambling on his hands and knees to get away.

Lambert kicked the man’s left leg. Stoddard tried to get up again but Lambert was on him. He punched him twice in the stomach.