Dead Eyed

by Matt Brolly

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ continued Hastings. ‘I was explaining to DI May here that I have some connection with the latest victim, Sandra Hopkins. Can I get you something to drink?’

  Lambert took a seat next to May, as Hastings ordered coffee from a waitress. ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Twenty years ago, would you believe? I had to check my records, but I knew the name rang a bell. It was a criminal negligence case. Hopkins’ firm represented the accused. She was a trainee solicitor. Nothing more than a paper holder, but I spoke to her on a number of occasions.’

  ‘When exactly?’ asked Lambert.

  Hastings gave him the date. It coincided with the investigation into the sixth Souljacker victim, William Perryman.

  ‘Hopkins was still in Bristol at that time. She’d completed her training contract and was working in the firm’s commercial section,’ said May.

  ‘Does Nielson know?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘Yes,’ said May. ‘But there’s something more. The case was an NHS negligence case involving an eye surgeon.’

  Lambert stared at her. ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘No. The surgeon was cleared and still practices, now in Gloucester. We have him under surveillance. DS Bradbury and the team are working through the old cases, seeing if they can find something substantial so we can get him in for questioning. I’m going back shortly to assist.’

  ‘Sounds a bit convenient,’ said Lambert.

  May didn’t respond.

  ‘What do you think, sir?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘Obviously it’s worth pursuing, but I agree, it all sounds too convenient. I would be surprised if the killer would be so sloppy, after so long,’ said Hastings.

  ‘Unless he wants to get caught,’ said May.

  Hastings shrugged. Lambert ran through everything in his head. Now would be the time to tell May about the photos Klatzky received, and his mysterious lift home from Bristol. First he wanted some answers. ‘Have you read the Samuel Burnham case?’ he asked.

  ‘DCI Nielson and I have been liaising with the team in Hertfordshire. At the moment, we’re ruling out any direct link.’

  Hastings slanted his head, and May updated him on details about the killing. ‘The eyes have it,’ he said.

  Two uniformed officers entered the hotel. ‘My chariot awaits,’ said May. ‘Thank you for the coffee,’ she said to Hastings.

  Hastings dropped his head half a centimetre, his face blank.

  Lambert followed May out of the hotel. ‘I presume Nielson wouldn’t approve of my accompanying you?’

  ‘No, but there is something you could do for me. Your friend, Simon Klatzky. Have you seen him recently?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It would be a good idea if he attended a local police station. There was somewhat of a fracas at the University student union the other evening. Mr Klatzky caused a bit of damage.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’

  ‘And Nielson is on the warpath for him, especially with that arrest warrant still outstanding.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll advise him when I see him.’ He couldn’t bring himself to tell her about Klatzky. Klatzky was his only link to the Souljacker, and he wasn’t willing to give him over to May or anyone else at that moment. ‘Is Nielson going with you to see the surgeon?’

  ‘No, not yet at least. Listen, about last night,’ she began.

  ‘No, no. You’ve more important things to be getting on with,’ he said.

  May swept a piece of hair from her eyes, offering him a brief smile. ‘See you soon,’ she said, lowering herself into the back of the waiting police car. Lambert didn’t know if it was a question or a statement.

  ‘I’m going to get going, Michael,’ said Hastings, surprising him with a light tap on the back. ‘I’ve settled up inside. I’m heading home on the train. Like the old days this. Can’t say I miss all the drama. Be seeing you.’

  ‘Sir.’

  Lambert called Bardsley. He hadn’t spoken to the man in five or six years. Bardsley had started in CID on the same day as Lambert. Glenn Tillman, then a mere DI, had been their divisional leader. They’d worked together for three years before Bardsley moved stations.

  He was now a DCI out of Watford Central Station. They agreed to meet later that morning. Lambert caught the overground out of Bromley and was surprised to reach Watford in less than an hour.

  Lambert spotted Bardsley as soon as he entered the greasy spoon called Terry’s. He sat alone, nursing a mug of tea. He beckoned Lambert over as he entered the café.

  ‘You look older,’ said Lambert, sitting on the yellow plastic chair.

  Bardsley smirked. He was the same age as Lambert with a drawn, thin face which made him look about ten years older.

  ‘What’s this about, Mike?’ Bardsley’s voice still had a lilt of the Black Country to it. The combination of his face and slow voice often made people underestimate the man. Something Bardsley always used to his advantage.

  ‘As I mentioned on the phone, I have some questions about the Burnham case.’

  ‘You’re not working at the moment.’

  ‘Not officially. I’m helping out with a case.’

  ‘The Souljacker murders,’ said Bardsley, taking a sip from his tea and smirking again.

  ‘Glad you’re up to speed on that. What do I need to get a coffee around here?’

  Bardsley shouted over to the proprietor. ‘Coffee, John. I’ve exchanged words with the fragrant DI May on the subject, if that’s what you’re after.’

  An obese red-haired man stumbled over and handed Lambert a chipped mug of milky coffee. ‘You have me at a disadvantage then, Josh. So what do you know?’

  ‘About the case or about you?’

  ‘Enlighten me.’

  ‘Well, she is one good-looking woman that’s for sure.’ Bardsley leant forward and smiled, conspiratorially.

  ‘I wouldn’t know anything about that.’

  ‘Bullshit. Anyway, we’ve been in contact since that Haydon boy was slaughtered. Nasty business. As you know it happened within two days of the Burnham kid dying. It was May who contacted me about the potential link.’

  Lambert hadn’t seen any notes to that effect on The System. May had never mentioned Burnham or Bardsley in their time together, apart from that morning when he had questioned her. ‘So what can you tell me?’

  Bardsley scratched his head, playing the dumb officer role. ‘If the situation was reversed, would you share anything with me?’

  Lambert considered everything he’d read on The System. With a little time, he believed he’d know more than Bardsley about Burnham’s murder. If there was any link, then he would find it. ‘I don’t really know, Josh. You know this is personally relevant to me?’

  ‘Of course I do, and that’s why I agreed to meet you.’

  Over Bardsley’s shoulder, the red-haired proprietor hacked away at some onions and dropped them onto a grime-covered hot plate. Within seconds, a cloud of stale fat hovered over the café.

  ‘Okay, I’ll give,’ said Bardsley. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Thanks, Josh. You’ve answered one of my questions already.’

  ‘Whether we’ve examined the link between the Burnham and Haydon killings?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Apart from the eyes, there doesn’t seem to be anything in it.’

  ‘And Burnham’s the first?’

  ‘Yes. As far as we are aware. Badly beaten, eyes sealed shut.’

  ‘Before or after death?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘During would be more apt. From what I’ve discussed with May, the Souljacker victims were all drugged first.’

  ‘So I believe.’

  ‘Well, this guy didn’t anaesthetise.’

  ‘So was there a struggle?’

  ‘Not exactly. There was a heavy blow, signs of restraint. Burnham never had the chance to fight back. The fucker sliced his lips off.’

  ‘The lips? Was he a grass?’

  ‘Could be. We know hi
m as a petty criminal. Two prison terms both for burglary.’

  ‘Some sort of vigilante killing?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘Perhaps. But Burnham was small fry, at least from what we know of him.’

  ‘And you’re sure there’s no link with the Souljacker killings? Seems bloody coincidental to me.’

  ‘No one’s ruling it out. It’s plausible considering the times and locations of the two recent Souljacker murders. But from what I understand I don’t think they’re linked. The Burnham scene was a mess. It was a frenzied attack, a lot of damage to the body. From what I’ve seen of the Souljacker, he seems more restrained.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a fucking delight,’ said Lambert.

  Bardsley ordered some more drinks. ‘Listen, Mike. I never told you how sorry I was to hear about Chloe,’ he said.

  Bardsley had been at funeral but Lambert had been on such heavy medication at the time, the memory of that day was fuzzy at best. He’d never told anyone but he’d felt cheated afterwards. The grief he’d felt during the funeral had been abstract, as if he was viewing himself grieving from afar. The full impact of his loss didn’t hit him until months later, when Chloe’s absence overtook him. He’d holed himself up in his room, and had barely left for weeks. He’d never had the chance to properly say goodbye, and wished now he’d gone to the funeral drug-free, whatever physical agony that would have caused him.

  ‘You’ve heard about this eye surgeon in Bristol?’

  Bardsley frowned. ‘No.’

  Lambert told him about Hastings’ link to Sandra Hopkins, the eye surgeon’s negligence case. Lambert was once again struck by how orchestrated things felt. He was convinced the eye surgeon was a dead end, thought it possible that the Souljacker was deflecting their attention.

  ‘Fingers crossed there. How’s Hastings keeping? Haven’t seen him in years.’

  ‘Same old. You worked much with Nielson?’

  Bardsley ground his teeth, his eyes widening a touch.

  ‘I see,’ said Lambert. ‘Anyway, thanks for your time, Josh.’

  ‘Pleasure. You’ve my number if that brain of yours comes up with anything we may have missed.’ He didn’t get up as Lambert left the café.

  Lambert assessed the faces on the train and tube as he returned home. He made a plausible case for each one’s involvement in some form of criminal activity. From London Bridge, he caught the train back to Beckenham. Walking back to his house, he went to call Sophie twice but each time hung up before the phone started ringing.

  Whatever Nielson, May and Bardsley were telling him, Lambert was convinced the cases were linked. It had to be the same killer, out of retirement and making up for lost time. Furthermore, he was positive the killer was using accomplices. It was possible this would be his undoing.

  He heard the noise as he turned onto his street. A distant ringing sound which crescendoed into a full-blast concert by the time he reached his house.

  Somehow, he’d forgotten about Klatzky. A wave of cigarette smoke rushed his eyes as he opened his front door. In the living room, a half-dressed Klatzky drank vodka from a cut glass goblet. ‘Mikey,’ he said, one shaking hand holding a cigarette over Lambert’s record player, the other holding a vintage piece of vinyl as if it was a scrap piece of paper.

  In the corner sat another man.

  Someone Lambert hadn’t seen in fifteen years.

  Chapter 23

  By the time May reached Bristol, the investigation into the Surgeon, Peter Randall was already over. By late afternoon, she’d been called to face Superintendent Rush. Rush loved reading the riot act. It was so familiar that May had already tuned out. She would have rather been out working than sitting in Rush’s cramped office, listening to him rant. Rush wiped a bead of sweat off his forehand. Freckles and random tufts of red hair spotted his balding scalp.

  Rush slammed a file of papers onto his desk. His face blazed with colour as he loosened his tie. Although initially excited by the possible link between the surgeon, Randall, and Sandra Hopkins, the evidence linking Randall to the latest killing had proved flimsy at best. During questioning he’d provided an air-tight alibi.

  ‘So where are we now?’ asked Rush.

  ‘DCI Nielson’s team is following up a number of leads in London, sir. Our attention is on Sandra Vernon and the church.’

  ‘And the gay club?’

  May suppressed a snigger. Rush had almost spat out the word gay. ‘We are sending officers there every night, questioning the patrons.’

  ‘Right.’ Rush shuffled the papers on his desk, a signal for her to leave.

  May remained standing. ‘Sir, what do you know about Julian Hastings?’

  Rush looked up at her, the colour draining from his face. ‘I never worked with him, why?’

  ‘I’m not sure, we’ve been looking through the old Souljacker cases in some detail, and…’

  Rush propped his elbows on the table. ‘I’m not sure I want to hear this.’

  ‘No, it’s nothing major, though it’s possible some avenues of investigation could have been explored a bit better.’

  A sigh escaped from Rush as he tilted his head. ‘It was a different time then, quite often less of a team effort. Someone with Hastings’ previous experience would have been given the case and would have had pretty much a free rein.’

  ‘Even if he was unsuccessful?’

  ‘If you look at his case history, his record is exemplary. If you count the unsolved Souljacker murders as a whole it’s his only major failing.’ Rush strained his neck. ‘Sit down, May.’

  May flattened her skirt, and sat back down. Rush was experiencing some internal debate. She understood the pressure he would be receiving from higher up. It was possibly proving too much for him. Patches of sweat lined his forehead, and his shirt was damp from perspiration. She was going to suggest opening a window when he spoke. ‘Do you understand the man-hours which would be needed if we reopened each case in detail?’

  May knew all too well. It would be like running nine murder cases simultaneously, albeit with the added difficulty of all the evidence and those involved being twenty years older, if not dead. ‘It may not come down to that. I wanted to look at the first two cases to begin with, Clive Hale and Graham Jackett. Hastings wasn’t SIO on the first case. The Jackett case was the first one he worked. There might we something in those two which were overlooked, something which could relate to the others.’

  Rush loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, a wisp of red hair springing out over the cotton. ‘What do you have in mind, specifically?’

  ‘I wanted to speak to some of Hastings’ colleagues at the time. Find out more about how the investigation was conducted.’

  ‘And?’

  May thought about the religious aspect highlighted by Bradbury, the tentative way it had been investigated. Motive was the key aspect to this case. She’d hoped Hastings would have offered some more insight, but his suggestions had been vague at best. ‘Let me start there. Talk to those involved and we can see where we go next.’

  ‘I take it you’ve already made appointments.’

  May didn’t answer.

  ‘Go,’ said Rush. ‘I want a full report by tomorrow.’

  Back at her desk, May confirmed the appointment she’d made before speaking to Rush. Before leaving, she logged onto her private email and saw another email from Sean.

  Dear Sarah, I only have a few days left in Bristol. I would really love to see you before I return. Love, Sean x

  Her pulse increased as a jet of adrenalin shot through her body. It was ridiculous. He was basically harmless, and she knew how to defend herself, but still she always reacted. It would have been easier to block his email and forget he’d ever existed. Her father would call it Catholic guilt. She guessed that dealing with such occasional missives was a small penance to pay for what she’d done.

  Prior to leaving for London, she’d managed to track down a Latin expert, Dr Alison Atwal. She’d agreed to meet the woman in t
he same coffee shop where she’d first met Lambert. She still had an hour so she checked through the working file on Haydon, and ensured that her team were all busy.

  She stood outside her office and summoned Bradbury. She leant against the doorway as he approached. He walked towards her with his head high, not wishing to look weak in front of his colleagues.

  ‘Sit,’ she said, closing the door behind her.

  Bradbury sat, back straight on one the office chairs. ‘I want you to pay a visit to Haydon’s old church again. They have a service this lunchtime. Some saint’s day. Try to mingle. Find out some more about them. The minister in particular.’

  ‘They’ll know me,’ said Bradbury.

  ‘That will make it easier then. But don’t do anything stupid. Be discreet and diplomatic. Charm not coercion.’

  ‘What about Klatzky and Lambert?’

  ‘They’re both in London. Nielson has people on it. Not our concern for the time being. Now, if there is nothing else?’ She decided not to tell him about her talk with Rush. She’d made an appointment with the original SIO on the Clive Hale case, Iain Hill. Hill had taken early retirement after the Hale case. He lived in a village called Backwell which was only a short journey from the centre. She wanted to speak to Hill before she told the rest of the team in case it was a dead end.

  She left the station, and walked through the centre along Park Street. She was about to cross at the traffic lights when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Two taps, the hand strong, the gesture familiar. It can’t be, she thought, turning to see the grinning face of her ex-boyfriend.

  She didn’t betray any emotions. She was a professional now, and acted as such. ‘Sean, what do you think you’re doing?’ She didn’t raise her voice, her tone cool and neutral.

  The smile faded for a second then reappeared. He’d always been good-looking, and he’d aged well. His skin was less smooth, the odd wrinkle on his forehead and beneath his eyes, but he still had those almost feminine features. The ridiculously pronounced cheekbones, full lips, and bright eyes, which had attracted him to her all those years ago.

  ‘I tried to email you but you didn’t reply,’ he said, his smile not faltering once.

  ‘Sean, I thought this was all settled. I told you I would take a restraining order out on you if you came near me again.’