Dead Eyed

by Matt Brolly

  Lambert accepted the weak handshake. ‘Thank you, Neil.’

  ‘Please sit, how may I help?’

  ‘As I am sure Miss Vernon has informed you, I was Terrence’s friend at University. I’d come to pay my respect to Miss Vernon. Whilst here, I thought I’d see the church Terrence was so fond of.’

  ‘That he was, Mr Lambert. Terrence was an active parishioner, ever since he joined our congregation when he was at University. He will be sorely missed.’

  ‘You’ve been minister all that time?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Landsdale, holding his hands in front of him, his fingers interlocked. ‘It is my church.’

  ‘So you know Terrence’s father?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. Sandra and Terrence’s father had divorced some time before they moved here.’

  ‘Did Terrence ever speak of him?’

  ‘With all due respect, what business is it of yours? I thought you came to pay your respects.’ The smile was still there, but the humour had disappeared from the minister’s eyes.

  ‘I have, and I wanted to pay my respects to both parents,’ said Lambert, his voice rising, his patience fading.

  Landsdale understood. He unlinked his fingers and sat back in his chair, as if trying to escape Lambert’s gaze. ‘Look, there’s not much I can tell you. Terrence’s parents were parishioners of our sister church in Neath, when Terrence was a child. The church had a different approach then. From what I heard, there was a bit of a nasty business when they separated. Terrence never mentioned him.’

  ‘Do you know where Mr Haydon is now?’ It would only take a minute to find the father’s address on The System, but Lambert wanted to hear the address from Landsdale. He tapped his knuckles on the minister’s desk, and waited.

  ‘Now how would I know that, Mr Lambert? Perhaps you should ask the police.’

  Lambert continued tapping the desk, despite the threat. He inched closer to Landsdale who shifted in his chair, looking everywhere but back at him. ‘Okay. Thank you for your time.’ Lambert stepped back from the desk, Landsdale letting out a sigh. ‘Before I go, do you ever use incense during your services?’

  Landsdale was on his feet, mirroring Lambert. A smile still stuck on his face. ‘Bit Old Testament for us. Let me show you out, Mr Lambert.’

  Lambert ordered a taxi back to the city centre and waited outside the church for it to arrive. On the journey back, he replayed the meeting with Terrence’s mother. He hadn’t appreciated it at the time, but what he recalled most now was the coldness of her house. The sparse religious decorations, the hostility from the small bespectacled woman. Lambert hadn’t sensed much love for her son from Sandra Vernon, only the bitterness and hatred she felt towards her ex-husband. Lambert tried to picture what it must have been like for Terrence to be raised by such a woman and found himself feeling a bit sorry for Terrence’s father even though he had never met the man.

  Landsdale was less straight forward. He gave the outward impression of being approachable and helpful, but he had a touch of steel about him. He’d refused to be budged on Haydon’s father, even though Lambert was certain Landsdale knew where the man was. Something was going on with Sandra Vernon and Landsdale. They were hiding something whether it was relevant to Terrence Haydon’s death or not. Lambert was lifted by the thought. In his eyes, secrets were a sign of progress.

  Back in the town centre, he checked into the hotel at the bottom of Park Street, ordering a room for Klatzky. He sent Klatzky a text instructing him to pick up the room card from reception. He logged onto The System and checked HOLMES for updates. He was mildly surprised to see his name mentioned. May had reported meeting him for lunch, and that she had warned him not to start his own investigation. She had posted a picture of him as well as one of Klatzky. No mention of their meeting tonight had been entered.

  He read through the details of the previous Souljacker victims, starting way back with Clive Hale. May’s team had noted the transition in style of the killer from the first hurried job on Hale. How from Graham Jackett onwards, the killer had been much more meticulous from the eye removal to immaculate inscriptions carved onto his victim’s torsos. May had ordered a closer look at all the previous victims which made sense to Lambert. He was particularly interested in the connection between six of the victims who had all been members of a church of various denominations. Billy Nolan hadn’t attended church at any time during University but maybe there was some link from the past which had escaped the initial investigative team. Reading further, he realised that May would likely find out. She was due to meet the SIO on eight of the last ten Souljacker killings, Chief Superintendent Julian Hastings, tomorrow morning.

  It didn’t take long to find an address for Terrence’s estranged father. Roger Haydon lived in Weston-super-Mare, a small seaside town twenty miles from Bristol. Roger Haydon had been on housing and unemployment benefit for most of his life. One of May’s team, DS Jack Bradbury, had questioned the man. Haydon had claimed not to have seen Terrence since he was a child.

  Lambert ordered a late lunch from room service and called Tillman.

  ‘You’re not working for me, so you don’t need to call in and report,’ said Tillman.

  ‘I had an interesting chat with the DI on this case, Sarah May,’ said Lambert, ignoring him.

  ‘And I should be interested because?’

  ‘What’s my official classification, sir?’

  ‘You know that, Michael. Leave of absentia or some shit.’

  ‘She managed to obtain my personnel file. Well, parts of it. She thinks I’m a man of mystery.’

  ‘We all think that, Michael. Now if there is nothing else? We shouldn’t even be discussing this on the phone.’

  ‘It made me think,’ said Lambert.

  ‘A new one, but go on.’

  ‘About coming back.’

  Tillman didn’t respond. Lambert’s leave had been out of necessity. The accident had left him in an induced coma, followed by months of physical and mental rehabilitation. Tillman had never visited him during that time, but Lambert still received a small salary despite the accident occurring out of work.

  ‘Sir?’ said Lambert.

  ‘You want to come back?’ said Tillman.

  ‘I want to know where I would stand.’

  ‘We’ll meet once you’ve finished playing detectives,’ said Tillman, hanging up.

  Lambert placed the phone on the bedside table and collapsed into the softness of the bed. Talking to Tillman had deflated his new enthusiasm. He’d never blamed anyone else for what had happened to Chloe. He’d revelled in his guilt, replaying the incident time after time, day after day. He’d refused all offers of help, from his wife and extended family, from his work colleagues. He carried his child’s death around with him like a millstone, and it impacted on everything. His wife wanted nothing more to do with him, and Tillman knew he wouldn’t be ready for work until he had dealt with it.

  A tightness filled his chest, and he sat upright fighting the sensation. He stumbled to the bathroom and drank heavily from the sink tap. Forgetting his guilt would be a betrayal of Chloe’s memory but maybe there was another way to honour her. It could never bring her back, and he could never be redeemed, but he needed to move forward with the case.

  Chapter 8

  Lance Crosby left the small bookshop opposite the University building. He’d been waiting for three hours, ever since Lambert had caught the taxi. He watched Lambert enter the building and called it in.

  ‘Sit tight,’ said the man on the other end of the line.

  Lance did as instructed. It was his third day on the job. The last two days had been spent in London following Lambert’s friend, Simon Klatzky. Keeping track of Klatzky had meant visiting an unending array of public houses, until yesterday when he’d contacted Lambert.

  Lance had photographed the second man and forwarded the photos onto Campbell, who had taken great pleasure in the news.

  In an instant, the focus changed. Lance had b
een following Lambert ever since. Following Lambert was more complicated. Campbell had warned him that Lambert was a professional and so it had proved. Lance hoped the other two would arrive soon. Sooner or later his luck would run out and Lambert would spot him. He’d kept his distance this morning on the tube and latterly on the train but Lambert was police. He’d told Campbell as much but the words went unheeded.

  Before he had time to react, Lambert left the University building. Lance followed at a distance as Lambert walked down Park Street, heading for the Marriott hotel at the bottom of the hill.

  Lance updated his boss.

  ‘Go back to the University and watch Klatzky,’ instructed Campbell.

  Back at the building, following a gruelling trek back up Park Street, Lance showed the security guard a fake ID and went in search of the union bar. It was no surprise to find the second man there. Simon Klatzky sat at a table drowning his sorrows. Somehow he’d convinced a number of female students, attractive ones at that, to join him.

  Lance ordered a Diet Coke from the bar and took a seat, imagining he was in for a long day.

  Chapter 9

  Like Bradbury had suggested, Blood Kill was full of authentic procedural detail but May found herself drawn to the story as well which was about the murder of teenage girl, a girl blind from birth. The main detective was a methodical and morally superior Superintendent. From what Bradbury had told her, Hastings had become obsessed with the Souljacker case during his time on the force. It had proved to be the major he case he never solved, and there was an obvious parallel to the girl in his novel. She wondered if writing the book was cathartic for Hastings, if the success of his fictional hero in finding the killer alleviated his own perceived failings. She closed the book halfway through, surprised how engrossed she had become with the case.

  Jack Bradbury stopped her as she left the office.

  ‘I thought you’d want to know. Sandra Vernon called. Apparently your friend Michael Lambert paid her a visit earlier on today.’

  ‘How long ago?’ asked May.

  ‘A few minutes. She called as soon as he’d left. She wasn’t very happy. He claimed he was a friend of Terrence Haydon and had called around to pay his respects.’

  ‘True in a way, I suppose. Did she have anything else to add?’

  ‘That he was asking some odd questions. In particular about Terrence’s father.’

  ‘What did he want exactly?’

  ‘She sounded a bit pissed,’ said Bradbury. ‘Lambert wanted to know the man’s address. Vernon didn’t pass on the details.’

  Although she didn’t consider him a serious suspect, May had placed Lambert’s picture on the incident board next to Klatzky’s. She’d warned him not to start his own investigation but knew he would still get involved. Procedurally it would be difficult to officially get him working on the case, though it would definitely be beneficial. ‘You saw Terrence’s father yesterday?’ she asked Bradbury.

  Bradbury nodded. She remembered his report. The man lived alone in a council estate in Weston-super-Mare. Sad figure by all accounts. He hadn’t seen his son in over twenty years. ‘Okay, I’ll have another word with him today.’

  ‘What, Lambert?’

  May crossed her arms. ‘Yes, Lambert. Is there anything else?’

  ‘No, ma’am,’ replied Bradbury. With a brief flash of the puppy dog eyes, he turned away.

  The hospital was less than a mile from the Central Police Station so she decided to walk. As she left the building, she thought she saw a figure from her past. She rubbed her eyes, as the figure disappeared around a corner, and retrieved a pair of sunglasses from her bag.

  May had arranged to meet Siobhan Callahan at the hospital. Callahan worked as an Occupational Therapist. She’d been one of the students on the fifth floor of the halls of residence during the period when Billy Nolan’s body was discovered eighteen years ago.

  She’d also been Michael Lambert’s girlfriend.

  May uncovered her following a thorough reading of the student statements. She couldn’t believe her luck when she’d discovered the woman worked less than a mile from her office.

  The extended heatwave still gripped the city, the late September sky a cloudless blue. May trekked up the hill which led to the hospital and searched for Callaghan’s department on the noticeboard in the main foyer. She followed the green line which led to the occupational therapy department. She recalled her own time at University, and the boyfriends she’d had there. She didn’t know how she would have reacted if someone wanted to talk to her about any of them. She rarely dwelled on the past, couldn’t relate to the wide-eyed girl she’d been in her early twenties. She viewed her past like a voyeur, her memories akin to a reader imagining a character from a book.

  Siobhan Callaghan was not what she’d expected. May had pictured a stereotypical Irish girl, buxom and red-haired. The woman in front of her had short, spikey black hair, and a thin wiry body. Her face had a boyish quality to it.

  ‘Oh yes, Inspector. Sorry, I’ve been rushed off my feet today. Please come on through.’ She led her through to a small white cubicle, with a desk, two plastic chairs and an elevated bed. Like the rest of the hospital, the small area had a clean antiseptic smell. ‘Please take a seat. Sorry, I didn’t quite get the gist of your call earlier. You mentioned something about that incident at the University all those years ago.’

  ‘Yes, thank you for seeing me at such short notice,’ said May. ‘You’ve read about the recent murder in Southville?’

  ‘Yes. Ghastly. I thought about poor Billy when I read it. You think it’s the same person? It’s what the papers think, isn’t it?’

  May studied the woman. She sounded genuine, and nothing about her body language suggested otherwise. ‘I can’t comment on that. We’re speaking to everyone who was in halls on the night Billy Nolan’s body was discovered. I read your statement from that time.’

  Callaghan struggled to keep eye contact with May. Her eyes darted upwards, as if replaying that night in her head. ‘I was asleep when all the commotion happened, thank God. I never saw him. Christ, am I thankful for that. I can imagine it really fucked most people up. Oh, sorry, excuse my language.’

  May waved her hand dismissing the apology.

  ‘This one girl, Laura, she could barely speak. Her whole body was shaking. I remember putting my arm around her. She buzzed. It’s the only word I can use to describe it. It was like touching someone who’d had an electric shock. Her parents collected her the day after. I never saw her again. I’d known her for three years at University and that was that.’

  ‘It says on your file you had a boyfriend at the time?’

  Callahan shifted in her chair. ‘Michael,’ she said, a slight lilt to her voice.

  ‘Yes, Michael…Lambert,’ said May, pretending to glance at her notes.

  ‘Poor guy,’ said Siobhan. ‘He was the one who found Billy. Broke down his door. Have you spoken to him about it?’

  May nodded.

  Siobhan’s eyes widened. ‘Oh.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He was a bit like Laura to begin with, and then he went silent. He was close to Billy, you know.’

  ‘Yes, what was he like?’

  ‘Billy or Michael?’

  ‘Michael.’

  A brightness overcame Siobhan’s face, the memory clearly a fond one. ‘He was a sweet guy. What can I say, we were young. It was quite intense.’

  ‘Were you going out with him for long?’

  ‘Six, seven months.’

  ‘Was it a monogamous relationship?’

  ‘As far as I’m aware. Why all these questions about Michael?’

  ‘The most recent victim, he was also at University with you.’

  ‘What?’ said Siobhan, the colour vanishing from her face. ‘Michael wasn’t the victim, was he?’

  ‘No, no. Sorry, Siobhan. I didn’t mean to confuse you. The latest victim was called Terrence Haydon. He was at University at the same time as you.’

  Si
obhan caught her breath. ‘He was in halls with us? What floor was he on?’

  ‘Floor six. Some people called him Mad Terry?’

  ‘Don’t remember him. What’s this to do with Michael?’

  ‘Oh, nothing directly.’

  Siobhan placed her hands in her lap. ‘You can’t think he has anything to do with it? That would be ridiculous.’

  May leant forward, catching a waft of antiseptic from the corridor. ‘No, of course not. We’re examining all the connections in the two cases. And obviously Michael knew Billy very well. Did you know Michael’s other friends?’

  Siobhan relaxed, her shoulders dropping. ‘Yeah, there was a gang of them.’

  ‘What were they like as a group?’

  ‘They were nice enough guys. They basically liked to drink and go with girls, like all boys that age.’

  ‘Remember Simon Klatzky?’

  Siobhan pursed her lips. ‘He was hot,’ she said, giggling. ‘God, listen to me. Yeah, he was good friends with Michael. We’d all go out as a gang sometimes. I think he was really close with Billy. From what I heard it hit him really hard as well.’

  May thought about the photo of Klatzky she’d posted on the whiteboard, the hard life he’d had since leaving University. ‘Was there any trouble amongst them as a group? Any fights, things like that?’

  ‘There were the odd fallings out but nothing significant. They all got on really well.’

  ‘Well, thanks for your time, Siobhan. It’s been much appreciated. As I said it’s a routine thing.’

  Siobhan had grown in confidence during the meeting. Her eyes were more focused. As they both stood, she asked, ‘So when did you see Michael?’

  May noted the keen interest in the question, was surprised that the inquiry made her bristle. ‘He’s in Bristol at the moment. I met him today.’