Dead Eyed

by Matt Brolly

  He sat on one of the armchairs in the living room where the other evening he’d shared the company of Klatzky and Roddy. He opened the photo file which had been delivered to Klatzky. He’d seen hundreds of crime scene photos in his time but it never became any easier. Normally he could detach himself from the images but the pictures before him had a certain resonance. It wasn’t the images themselves that troubled him, the naked middle-aged man, the puffy black skin splattered with patches of maroon, the neatness of the wire which sealed the man’s eyes shut, the cleanness of the cut on the man’s leg. It was the fact that he knew the victim, had fought with him only days before.

  It was clear now. The pictures had been meant for him.

  It wasn’t Klatzky who linked the Souljacker and this second killer. It was him.

  He walked back to the kitchen and filled his cup again with black coffee. On The System, he searched for details of the new victim but couldn’t find anything. He ran a number of searches on Klatzky but nothing significant appeared beyond his existing arrest warrant. He cross-searched Klatzky’s name with Campbell, then with Sandra Hopkins. He cross-searched Klatzky with Billy Nolan and Samuel Burnham. Running out of ideas he crosschecked Klatzky with all the previous victims, still nothing.

  In the end, he called DCI Bardsley.

  ‘I haven’t seen you for ten years and now I can’t bloody get rid of you,’ said Bardsley, in his dour Black Country accent.

  ‘Thought I’d check in,’ said Lambert.

  ‘Oh yes, why?’

  ‘I was wondering if you had anything new to tell me.’

  Bardsley didn’t answer, only the faint sound of his breathing audible through the earpiece on Lambert’s phone. Lambert wasn’t about to break the silence.

  Eventually Bardsley relented.

  ‘Is there something you need to tell me, Mike?’ he said.

  ‘No, I’m only curious as to developments,’ said Lambert.

  Silence again.

  ‘I guess you’d hear about it anyway,’ said Bardsley. ‘There’s been a second victim. Kwasi Olumide. His body was discovered earlier today on the forecourt of a disused petrol station. Same MO as Samuel Burnham. Eyes sealed shut. The body had been moved. He’d been dead for at least forty-eight hours by the time we found him.’

  ‘Any body part missing?’ said Lambert, thinking about how the killer had removed Sam Burnham’s lips.

  ‘Leg,’ said Bardsley. ‘Something tells me you already know this, Mike.’

  ‘Who is this character?’

  ‘Ex-con. Minor stuff. Some house burglary. We grabbed your informant in, Myles Stoddard.’

  ‘I bet that pleased him,’ said Lambert.

  ‘Caught him on his lunch break.’

  ‘What did he have to say?’

  ‘He knew him. Though it strikes me that he knows a lot of people.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Seems Kwasi here was suffering some serious money worries. And according to Stoddard the rumours were that he’d been to a certain Mr Campbell for some advice.’

  Chapter 33

  May stood outside Gracelife church, Bristol, accompanied by Bradbury, and two uniformed constables. She had an appointment with the pastor, Neil Landsdale. In her hand she held a warrant to search the church’s records.

  A thin lady in a pale summer dress answered the door. The woman was nervous, her head jutting forward and back like a chicken. May introduced herself and showed her the warrant.

  ‘I’m afraid the minister is very busy at the moment. Could you come back later?’

  ‘I don’t think you understand the nature of the warrant,’ said Bradbury, barging past May.

  May held her arm out to stop his progress. ‘Miss?’

  ‘Mrs Sally Davidson,’ said the woman.

  ‘Mrs Davidson, please read through the warrant again. You’ll see that we have a legal right to enter and search the premises, whether or not the minister is ready.’

  Bradbury mumbled to himself as the woman read the warrant. ‘I really should check with the minister.’

  ‘Okay, let’s all go in together and we can ask him,’ said May, moving past the woman, her patience fading.

  The church was not like the churches she’d attended as a child. She was used to open spaces, with high ceilings and stained-glass windows. This was nothing more than a couple of houses knocked together. Dark brown walls added to the claustrophobic feel. The only light came from a pair of small, oval windows.

  ‘Can I help you?’ The shape of a lanky, grey-haired man came into view by a side door.

  ‘Neil Landsdale?’ asked May.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My name is Detective Inspector May. I believe you know my colleague, Detective Sergeant Bradbury. I have a warrant to search your premises.’ May walked across the polished floor and handed him the document.

  Davidson followed behind. ‘I’m sorry, Neil. I did try to stop them.’

  Landsdale ignored the woman and read through the file. ‘That’s fine, Sally,’ he said, once he’d finished reading. ‘What’s this about, Inspector?’

  ‘We’re trying to find all documents relating to counselling sessions conducted here in the last twenty years. It would save us a lot of time if you could assist us.’

  ‘Of course I’ll assist you. Why all the drama?’

  May applied for the warrant after talking to Lambert, and his revelation that Billy Nolan had once attended counselling sessions at the church during the period prior to his murder. She didn’t want to take the risk of Landsdale destroying any potential evidence, however unlikely it was that such evidence existed.

  Landsdale led her to the office. May instructed Bradbury and the others to check the rest of the church. ‘Is that really necessary, Inspector?’ said Landsdale.

  ‘What do you have for me then?’ asked May, ignoring the minister’s protestations. She told him the particular years she was interested in, when Billy Nolan had been a student.

  ‘Do you have any details on the exact nature of the sessions? We run, and have run all manner of sessions over the years. From AA meetings to counselling for victims of abuse.’

  ‘I need details on everything from those years. I take it you don’t have the records computerised?’ said May, glancing at an antiquated-looking PC on the man’s desk.

  ‘No. In fact, Inspector, we don’t really keep any records. By their very nature, these gatherings are often anonymous. We would never make a list of attendees. The best I can do is to give you a list of what counselling sessions were taking place, and hopefully the name of the counsellor involved. Even that might be a longshot.’

  ‘Were you the minister at this time?’

  ‘Yes, it’s my church.’

  Landsdale exuded calmness. He had a gruff charisma, clearly practised. So far, he’d treated May as if she was the only person in the room. She imagined him using his charm on the parishioners, coaxing a small congregation into following his every word. ‘Our filing system,’ he said, unlocking a wooden door in the corner of the office.

  The door led to a second room, little bigger than a broom cupboard. Shelves and bookcases lined the walls. Files and loose papers filled the shelves in no apparent order. May saw her day disappear in front of her.

  Landsdale flicked a switch. A cloud of dust swirled around a naked bulb. The room was musty, a patch of damp darkening the left-hand corner of the ceiling. May watched as Landsdale worked through the mess, eventually handing her a small folder of papers. ‘This is it?’ she said.

  ‘I’m afraid so. I told you we don’t keep many records.’

  ‘Aren’t the people who come to these things vulnerable?’

  ‘Sometimes. They come on a voluntary basis. Some of them want to be anonymous, some share their name but we don’t take a record of it.’

  Landsdale switched off the light and returned to his office. May followed him, and instructed one of the PCs to find Bradbury. ‘May I use one of these desks?’ she asked.


  ‘Please, be my guest. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ said May.

  ‘Ma’am?’ said Bradbury, sticking his head around the door into the office.

  ‘In there,’ said May, pointing to the other room. ‘Box everything.’

  Landsdale acted as if she’d struck him in the face. ‘Is that really necessary?’ he said.

  ‘I appreciate your cooperation,’ said May, opening the file before her.

  May read intently, trying her best to ignore Landsdale who paced the room. ‘This will take some time, Mr Landsdale,’ she said.

  ‘Take all the time you want.’

  ‘What I mean is, you might want to get some fresh air.’

  ‘I knew what you were implying, Inspector. This is my church, I want to be of any help I can.’

  May finished reading the file and started again from the beginning, disappointed with the lack of information it contained. It was ten pages long. It contained a timetable, listing the days and times the hall was used, and a sheet for each of the sessions. They had used the main church area in much the same way large churches used their church halls. Monday to Wednesday, the church was for Brownies, Cubs, and Girl Scouts. The counselling sessions had taken place on a Thursday and Friday. Due to the nature of the sessions, and the lack of space, they had spread the sessions over different time periods. The last session had been nine to ten p.m. Only two of the sessions were titled. An Alcoholics Anonymous session on a Thursday at eight p.m., and a family bereavement session on a Friday at seven p.m.

  ‘This is all rather vague,’ said May.

  ‘I did warn you.’

  ‘Why aren’t some of these sessions titled?’

  ‘May I see?’

  May handed him the file. Landsdale scanned the papers, a smile forming as he reminisced. ‘The titled sessions were held by outside organisations. The other sessions were run by the church, and church counsellors.’

  ‘Do you remember the specifics? Quite a lot of time is timetabled off. Surely you would have invoices, didn’t the external organisations pay to hire the hall?’

  ‘As I said, we ran and run a number of different courses. Some religious based, some focusing on the local community. I guess you might find some more detail through there, though I doubt it,’ said Landsdale pointing to the cupboard.

  May tried hard not to let her mistrust of religious leaders sway her judgment against Landsdale. ‘But you must remember something?’

  Landsdale sat down on one of the office chairs. He was composed, calm, borderline condescending. ‘It was twenty years ago. Can you recall what you were doing twenty years ago?’

  ‘To an extent, yes.’

  ‘But to the extent you wish me to recall?’

  May sighed. ‘You do know why I am here. One of your parishioners was murdered less than a week ago. It is possible that the killer’s previous victim used to attend some form of counselling session here. Even you must see there is a link?’

  ‘Even me?’ said Landsdale, chuckling. ‘Inspector, I am not trying to withhold anything from you. If you really feel there is a link between the two murders then of course I will help as best I can. I want justice for Terrence as much as you do, but in the last twenty years, we’ve had hundreds, possibly thousands, of groups come and go. Also, I am not as young as I once was. My memory, as the local parlance would have it, is shot.’

  May stifled a laugh. ‘Could you access your shot memory, and see if you can recall any link the church may have had with the University at the time?’

  Landsdale stared straight ahead. May thought he was ignoring her until she realised he was thinking. ‘I believe we used to put up flyers at the University. In fact, I think Terrence used to help us with that when he started there. I have some vague recollection about us attending some sort of fayre at the place. A Freshers’ Fayre, perhaps?’

  ‘Okay. And who would have attended this?’

  ‘We were a much bigger outfit back then, Inspector. Huge congregation.’ He rubbed the loose skin on his face. ‘Perhaps you can try Sally.’

  ‘Sally?’

  ‘Sally Davidson. I believe she’d started as one of our counsellors back then. Come to think of it, it may have been her suggestion to approach the University. Something about the despair of being a student.’

  ‘This being the same Sally Davidson who was here when we arrived?’

  ‘The very same,’ said Landsdale. ‘I’ll go and get her.’

  Landsdale left the office. May wasn’t sure if he was being deliberately obtuse or if his failure to identify Davidson as a counsellor at the time was an honest mistake. She recalled the nervous way Davidson had reacted to her arrival. How she’d tried to get them to come back another time.

  Landsdale returned. ‘Strange, she seems to have popped out,’ he said.

  Chapter 34

  Landsdale wrote Sally Davidson’s address on a piece of paper and handed it to May. ‘It’s only a mile from the church. She probably popped home for some lunch,’ said the minister. ‘It’s not if she can do any work here.’

  ‘Make sure he doesn’t call anyone. He’s not to leave your sight,’ May instructed Bradbury. ‘Wait until I get back before heading for the station.’

  May passed a public house called The Cartwheel, and headed into a housing estate where Davidson lived. The sky had clouded over, the temperature plummeting. May kept alert, looking out on the off chance for the woman.

  Sally Davidson lived in a terraced house on Jubilee Street. An overgrown hedgerow spread onto the pavement at the front of her house. As May opened the garden gate, flecks of black paint flaked off the rusted metal onto her hand.

  Sally Davidson was waiting by the front door, the colour drained from her face. Her head bobbed forward involuntarily. ‘Inspector May,’ she said, her voice a whisper.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘It’s a bit difficult at the moment,’ said Davidson.

  ‘Don’t start all that, Sally. Either I come in now or we take a visit to the police station.’

  The woman stood aside and ushered her in, her face twitching as May walked past. Davidson led her to a cramped living room. The woman clearly had an eye for bright colours. The wallpaper was a floral design, heavy on shades of purple and maroon. A multi-coloured patchwork quilt was thrown over an ancient-looking sofa. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Please, let’s sit.’

  Davidson sat on the sofa. May took a seat on the torn maroon leather armchair opposite. ‘You understand from our earlier conversation why we attended the church today?’

  ‘Yes, the warrant.’

  ‘And you know what we’re investigating?’

  ‘Terrence,’ said the woman, her head moving from side to side in an even cadence.

  ‘Can you tell why you left the building in such a hurry?’

  ‘You hadn’t asked me to stay,’ said Davidson, her face flushed with indignation.

  ‘Nothing more than that?’

  ‘I didn’t appreciate you appearing and taking over like that. It is not fair on the minister, and it is not fair on the church.’ Full of new-found confidence, Davidson held her head high. Her neck muscles were pulled tight, a gnarled vein snaking up the side looking fit to bust.

  ‘Mr Landsdale informed me you have been with the church for a number of years.’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘He also mentioned that you were a counsellor during the time of Billy Nolan’s death.’

  Davidson slumped down into the plump cushions of the sofa, all pretence of confidence vanished.

  ‘Did Billy Nolan attend counselling sessions with you, Mrs Davidson?’

  Davidson tried to shake her head but her nerves had got the better of her. Her head moved of its own accord, a continued circular motion interspersed with the occasional spasm forwards. ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘But he did attend the church?’

  ‘I can’t be sure but I believe so.’

&n
bsp; ‘Were you questioned about Billy Nolan’s death at the time?’

  ‘No. No one ever contacted the church.’

  The case files backed this up. ‘And did you not volunteer the information?’

  ‘I couldn’t be sure, and anyway those boys were here anonymously.’

  ‘Boys?’

  ‘As I said, I’m not sure if it was Billy Nolan who attended. From the pictures I saw in the newspaper I think it was him. He always came with a friend. We ran two sessions at the same time. I ran one upstairs in the office, the other was held downstairs.’

  ‘And Nolan went to the one downstairs.’

  ‘It’s possible. Yes, I believe so, yes.’

  Davidson left her seat. ‘Can I fetch something?’ she asked. ‘I kept some things which may be of help.’ The woman returned a few minutes later holding a box-file. ‘I kept this after the boy died. I realise I should have contacted someone earlier.’

  Earlier, thought May. She was eighteen years late, could have prevented the death of Terrence Haydon. May opened the file and scanned the contents.

  ‘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.’