Dead Eyed

by Matt Brolly

  Bradbury was waiting in his car. ‘Are you coming with me, ma’am?’ Though the idea of spending thirty minutes or so in Bradbury’s company did little to cheer her, it would be a good opportunity to get an update on what had happened. The inside of the car was immaculate as if he’d recently had it valeted. A disc hung from the rear-view mirror pouring out a noxious, citrus air freshener.

  ‘Sorry again, ma’am,’ said Bradbury, as he pulled away. ‘I knew you’d want to know and as I said, I did call you.’ It was a poorly concealed dig.

  ‘That’s fine, Jack, you made the right decision.’

  They spent thirty minutes struggling out of Bristol, the traffic by the Portway gridlocked. ‘What happened?’ she said.

  ‘The body was found at four p.m. this afternoon. There are a couple of guys from Weston CID there now. Superintendent Rush has sent a team from our department.’

  May rolled her eyes presuming Bradbury had told Rush he couldn’t get hold of her. Bradbury went to speak on a couple of occasions during the journey. May kept her gaze straight on the road ahead and sensed him turning to her about to speak, his courage always failing at the last minute.

  The SOCOs were already in place at the housing estate, as were Welling and others from her team. A man she didn’t recognise sat outside the house, inside the police cordon.

  ‘Thomas Langtree, ma’am. He was Mr Haydon’s’…’ Bradbury paused, ‘housemate.’ The young man didn’t look up or acknowledge her as she walked by. A WPC, presumably from the Weston station, sat next to him. The woman raised her head, acknowledging May, and was duly ignored.

  She was surprised to find that the SOCOs were already finished. The body had been taken down and photographed, the scene recorded from every angle. Roger Haydon’s corpse lay on a gurney covered by a black sheet.

  ‘Inspector May,’ said a man in a thick West Country accent.

  ‘Sergeant Hall,’ said May shaking the man’s hand. From Weston CID, Hall was of medium build. He had a curious face, narrow eyes and a jaw which jutted out at a sharp angle. She’d dealt with him on numerous occasions and they’d always worked well together.

  ‘I called your department as soon as I knew his identity,’ said Hall. ‘According to his friend out there, Mr Langtree, the body was discovered at approximately four p.m.’ Hall walked over to the gurney and pulled back the cover revealing Roger Haydon’s corpse. His lifeless eyes stared back at her, thankfully still intact. A thick red mark, covered in lesions and welts, encircled his neck.

  Hall replaced the cover. ‘Silly bastard hung himself,’ he said, his narrow eyes wide with animation.

  Haydon had defecated himself and the room was still cloudy with the noxious fumes of the recently deceased. She didn’t know if she was imagining it, but she swore she could smell the faint residue of the incense she’d smelt at Terrence Haydon’s and Sandra Hopkins’ flats. She told Bradbury to make sure SOCOs checked for any signs of incense.

  Outside, Langtree was still shaking.

  ‘WPC Fulham, ma’am,’ said the young constable May had ignored on her way into the building. ‘I haven’t managed to get much sense out of him, I’m afraid.’

  May sat down next to the man. Bradbury had said Langtree was Haydon’s housemate. It wasn’t in Bradbury’s initial report, and had only come to light following Lambert’s visit.

  ‘Thomas, my name is Sarah May. Can you tell me what happened?’ asked May, softening her voice.

  The man’s face crumpled with grief, making him look much younger than his bulk would suggest.

  ‘Please, Thomas. It would really help me to know the circumstances.’

  Langtree sighed. ‘He’d been acting strangely the last few days. Obvious, I suppose, after what happened to Terry.’

  ‘It must have been a huge shock,’ said May.

  Langtree blinked. ‘He’d started drinking more, we both had. And to be fair he was never short of a drink or two in the first place.’

  Bradbury’s report stated that the living room had been littered with empty two-litre bottles of White Lightning, and the occasional cheap whiskey bottle.

  ‘But I never thought anything like this would happen,’ continued Langtree.

  ‘So you found him when you came home?’

  ‘Yes. I went to him. I could tell it was too late. His eyes were bulging.’

  ‘But you didn’t cut him down?’ asked May.

  Langtree’s eyes filled. ‘I was too scared. I didn’t even touch him.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Langtree continued. ‘He was hanging there lifeless, something made me not want to touch him. I haven’t been back in since.’

  ‘It’s okay, Thomas. You did the right thing. When was the last time you saw him before you came back?’

  ‘This morning before I went to work.’

  ‘How was he then?’

  ‘Pissed.’

  ‘Did he look particular unhappy? Say something out of character?’

  ‘Not really. It was hard to tell at the moment. He’d been worse since that guy came around bringing up bad memories about that woman.’

  ‘What woman?’

  ‘His ex-wife.’

  ‘Sandra Vernon?’ said May.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sorry, Thomas, you need to clarify this for me, who came around to speak to him?’ said May, knowing the answer.

  ‘One of your lot. Strong looking guy. He said he was at University with Terrence. He started asking Roger about why he’d abandoned Terrence as a child. I think that’s what snapped him.’

  ‘Do you remember the man’s name?’

  ‘Lambert,’ said Langtree.

  May shuddered at the thought of how this would impact on the case.

  ‘There was one more thing,’ said Langtree, pushing himself up from the floor. The man-boy was a formidable size. Beneath the jacket the WPC had given him he wore a vest, his torso thick with muscle. ‘Roger said someone else had come to see him yesterday afternoon, after Lambert was here.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘He’d been a bit vague on the details. I’d popped out to a mate’s. We were both pissed at the time and I don’t remember everything he said.’

  ‘Please try, Thomas, it could be very helpful.’

  Langtree scrunched his face in thought. ‘He might have said he was a policeman, I don’t know. I’m getting things confused with the other guy, Lambert. Roger had sounded confused actually. The man had wanted to pay respects like Lambert had. When I’d come back from my mate’s, Roger had been more gone than normal. He’d started on the whiskey before six, which was a rule he didn’t normally break.’

  ‘And he didn’t say anything else about him? Anything about his appearance?’

  ‘He didn’t want to talk about it. I started on the whiskey soon after that too. I’m really sorry, I can’t remember.’

  ‘Okay, Thomas. You keep trying to remember. Let me know when you do.’

  ‘I’m sure there was something. Something weird he said about him. Oh yes, that was it.’ Langtree started laughing.

  May suspected the man was in shock.

  ‘Yes, he said the man gave off a funny smell. Smelt like a bordello I think was how he put it.’

  ‘In what way? He was wearing aftershave?’

  ‘I don’t know. I remember him saying “bordello”. It sounded like a funny word to me.’

  ‘See we get this man fed and dressed properly,’ said May to the WPC. She’d been sure she’d smelt the incense in the house. It was possible this was what Langtree was referring to. She stepped back into the house and told Hall her theory.

  ‘So you think his son’s killer paid Haydon senior a visit?’

  ‘I think it’s a possibility.’

  ‘What, and then came back to finish him off?’

  ‘Maybe it was something he said to him. Can you smell incense in here?’ asked May.

  ‘All I can smell is shit and blood but we can check for it.’

  ‘W
e should,’ said May. ‘And we should treat this area as a crime scene for the time being.’

  May walked outside. She knew Lambert had met Roger Haydon and Langtree. From the meeting, Lambert discovered that Terrence Haydon had visited the gay club but what Langtree had told her would cause a number of unwanted problems. Lambert was now one of the last people to have seen Roger Haydon alive. Aside from Lambert, only Bradbury from her team had met the man.

  There was now the added complication of the second man who had visited Roger Haydon on the same day as Lambert. Would the killer really have visited Haydon? And if so, why? It was possible Haydon had known more than he’d been letting on and that the killer wanted him silenced. Why, then, the lack of his usual signature?

  She called DCI Nielson and explained the situation to him.

  ‘I’ll bring Lambert in for questioning,’ said Nielson, a little too eagerly.

  ‘I agree. However, I think it’s Simon Klatzky we really need to speak to.’

  ‘We’ll find him,’ said Nielson.

  Langtree was eating some food, still being looked after by the WPC. May feared she was searching for things that weren’t there. The most likely solution was always the most obvious. Roger Haydon had been so distraught by his son’s death that he’d taken his own life.

  Chapter 26

  The second man was only half as drunk as Klatzky but still stumbled as he stood up. ‘Sorry about this, Michael,’ he said. ‘Simon said it would be okay.’

  Lambert had seen Roddy Glover a handful of times since their graduation day nearly eighteen years ago. The years had been reasonably kind to him. His slight, thin frame had yet to be ravaged by middle-age spread and he still had a full head of hair, now decorated with the odd streak of grey.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Roddy,’ said Lambert. Glover’s handshake was weak, his eyes failing to hold Lambert’s gaze.

  Undeterred, Klatzky dropped the record needle onto a mint condition vinyl issue of Prefrab Sprout’s Steve McQueen.‘I love these guys,’ he said, now swigging from a pint glass brimming with red wine.

  ‘Be careful with that,’ warned Lambert. He went over and turned the volume down.

  Roddy reclined on one of Lambert’s armchairs, smiling at the exchange. ‘I bought some beers,’ he said, an inane grin spreading across his face.

  ‘I gave Roddy a call and told him what had happened in Bristol,’ said Klatzky, slurring.

  Lambert took one of the cans of lager and sat in the chair opposite Roddy. ‘What else has he told you?’

  ‘Not much. Can hardly get any sense out of him as usual,’ said Roddy, making Lambert smile. He’d seen Roddy Glover practically every day during his University years. They had been in halls in the first and third year and shared a house in the second year, along with Klatzky, Billy Nolan, and two others. Glover had been present the night Billy Nolan’s body had been discovered.

  With him in the room, it felt strange to Lambert that they hadn’t kept in contact more. After graduating, Glover obtained a place on a graduate trainee programme with an international oil firm and had spent the subsequent years working abroad. But there had been many times when they’d both been in the same country, the same city. It wasn’t their proximity that kept them apart, it was their shared memory. It was only Klatzky who had wanted to keep everyone together.

  They spent the next hour reminiscing about their time at University. Lambert drank a couple more beers, his mood improving with each drink.

  ‘Let’s go out,’ suggested Klatzky.

  ‘Why not?’ said Glover. ‘The wife’s at the mother-in-law’s for the weekend. I haven’t had a proper piss up in months.’

  An old reflex made Lambert hesitate. He had to remind himself he was no longer working. The Souljacker investigation would progress without him. Perhaps this was exactly what he needed. He steered them clear of the pub at the end of his street. Klatzky was already making no sense and though Lambert was hardly a regular he didn’t want to risk upsetting anyone he might know. They found a chain pub along the high street. The Goose was one of those discount places already bustling in the late afternoon. Lambert ordered a round of drinks and they found some seats next to an ancient-looking pool table.

  ‘Of all things, I never thought you’d go into the police,’ said Roddy, loading some pool balls onto the table.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘Well for one, all those laws you broke at Uni.’

  ‘True, true,’ said Lambert. ‘But if they don’t catch you, you don’t have to declare it.’

  Klatzky was close to falling asleep, his chin resting on his chest, his eyes slipping in and out of consciousness.

  ‘But seriously,’ said Roddy. ‘I was still surprised when I heard. I didn’t think you were that sort of person.’

  ‘Do I want to hear this?’ said Lambert.

  ‘Hey, it’s not a criticism, far from it. And what do I know anyway? It’s, I don’t know, I would have thought it took a certain type of person to work for the police. Especially for someone who reached the sort of level you did. Level you are. Sorry, I’m talking shit.’

  ‘And you don’t think I’m that type of person?’

  ‘Not at Uni, Mike. As I said, it’s not a criticism.’

  ‘You think I’m too soft,’ said Lambert, leaning toward Roddy in a mock threat.

  ‘Well yeah, you were soft as shit, goes without saying, but no. I always thought you were, God I hate to say this, but I always thought you were a little bit too nice.’

  Lambert finished his lager, thought about how his plans for the future had changed followed Billy Nolan’s death. How he’d tried to make sense of his friend’s death by becoming an officer. The childish aspirations he’d held to change the world, if only a little. ‘I will try to take that as a compliment.’

  ‘Another one?’ said Roddy.

  ‘Stay with us, Si,’ said Lambert as Roddy went to the bar. He’d remembered the beginning of their conversation last night, before Sophie had interrupted them. He’d thought at the time that Klatzky was going to share something with him. It would be pointless pushing it now. The man could hardly keep his eyes open. At least he’d showered. Lambert recognised the shirt he was wearing as one of his. ‘Help yourself,’ he mumbled to himself.

  ‘So what happened?’ said Roddy, returning from the bar with another round of drinks. He went to hand one to Klatzky who had finally given in and fallen asleep, a line of dribble falling from the left side of his mouth.

  ‘Nothing in particular. I guess I had to grow up, and DI Hastings suggested I had a talent for it.’

  ‘Hastings? What, that bastard who was there for the thing with Billy?’

  Hastings hadn’t been too popular with the students at the time, had treated each of them as a potential suspect. ‘Yes, him. Hastings suggested I think about a career in the police. He’s not that bad once you get to know him,’ said Lambert, thinking that perhaps he didn’t know as much about the man as he’d originally thought.

  ‘And you thought it was a good idea? Even after seeing what happened to Billy?’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing. I was full of good intentions then. I wanted to catch people. The sort of people who were capable of doing the things, oh you know what I mean.’

  ‘Did you make the right decision?’

  Lambert took a large drink. ‘I’ve seen some awful things but I’ve managed to catch some of those types of people. So who the hell knows?’

  Lambert enjoyed himself more than he’d imagined. Being with Roddy and the sleeping Klatzky in the pub brought back memories of a simpler time. He couldn’t count the amount of evenings he’d spent in a similar fashion whilst at University.

  The alcohol helped. It desensitised him. His concerns over recent events – Haydon’s death, the second Souljacker murder in London, and the supposedly unrelated murder of Burnham – faded as the evening progressed. Even his worry over Sophie and her dalliance with Jeremy Taylor stopped bothering him. Al
l he cared about at that precise moment was where the next drink was coming from.

  As if reading his mind Klatzky sprung back to consciousness. The transformation was remarkable and not a little funny. Lambert exchanged smiles with Roddy as, wide-eyed, Klatzky reacquainted himself with his location.

  ‘What are you both drinking?’ he said, stumbling to his feet. He strolled over to the bar before they had time to reply, walking with a comical limp.

  ‘Do you ever think you’ll go back?’ asked Roddy.

  ‘To work? I guess so. At some point I’ll probably have to,’ replied Lambert, thinking that in a way he’d already returned, albeit in an unpaid position. Klatzky had been gone for ten minutes before Lambert became worried.

  Then he noticed DCI Nielson, flanked by two uniformed officers, talking to one of the barmen.

  ‘I think Simon’s gone,’ he said.

  Chapter 27

  Nielson spotted Lambert and pointed him out to his colleagues.

  ‘Friends of yours?’ asked Roddy.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘You’re a hard man to find, Mr Lambert,’ said Nielson, his colleagues flanking him on either side. Each a little nervous, poised, ready for action as if Lambert would flee the scene.

  ‘You should have phoned. Saved yourself the trouble,’ said Lambert.

  ‘I did. Straight to voicemail. You are?’ Nielson turned to Roddy.

  The alcohol had loosened his friend who beamed at the DCI. ‘I’m Roddy, of course,’ he said, sniggering.

  ‘I need to speak to you,’ continued Nielson, turning his attention back to Lambert.

  ‘Can we do it another time? I’m busy.’

  ‘I need you to come to the station.’

  ‘Need? Like? Demand?’

  ‘All three,’ said Nielson.

  ‘I think I need a reason,’ said Lambert. He was being difficult, but Nielson’s manner rubbed him up the wrong way. He’d decided early on he didn’t like Nielson and nothing about the way the man was speaking to him now was changing his mind.

  ‘Roger Haydon is dead,’ said Nielson.

  Lambert hid his surprise. He pulled himself straighter in his seat. ‘How?’ he asked.