Dead Eyed

by Matt Brolly

  ‘You can’t,’ he said, with a sense of finality which made her snort with laughter.

  ‘Look, Sean, I know you are upset but you can’t expect me to go through with this. I’m only seventeen.’

  ‘You can’t. God has given us this gift,’ he said, and in that second she realised there would be no negotiating with him.

  She’d explained everything. How they were both too young, how it would destroy their lives. She told him they couldn’t afford a baby, that it wouldn’t be fair to bring a child up in their situation.

  He listened to every word, a strange pious look on his face. ‘We’re keeping it,’ he said.

  ‘It’s my body,’ she said, getting to her feet.

  He’d made a grab for her arm and pulled himself up as she struggled to remain upright. She pushed him away, and they stood apart in a silent impasse which she broke by kicking him hard between the legs. He collapsed, as if the ground beneath him had been taken away.

  She’d run all the way home, told her parents what had happened, and never saw him alone again until years later.

  She stopped halfway up the hill, pretending to tie her shoe laces. He was a hundred metres away. He’d stopped when she had, and was looking at a menu on the outside of a restaurant. She considered walking back down the hill to confront him, to clear it all up once and for all, but was so riled up she feared what she would do to him.

  She continued into Blackheath village. The hotel was on a back road, behind a small car park. Not an ideal location, although the hotel itself was of a high standard. She headed off the main road onto the side street. It was well lit and only a few hundred metres long. She refused to show any fear where Sean was concerned.

  He called out for her as she rounded the corner. ‘Sarah, Sarah, it’s me,’ he said. He ran towards her, oblivious to her look of distaste. ‘I thought it was you. What are the chances?’ he said, catching up on her.

  May crossed her arms. ‘The chances are very high. You’re following me, Sean. I’m not an idiot.’

  After the incident at the park, he’d ignored her for two weeks. Then the letters had started. Her parents had tried to protect her from them, but she’d insisted on reading every one. She now saw them for what they were, but back then they had come close to destroying her. If there was a cruel name, or insult, he hadn’t used in those letters then she was yet to hear it. They arrived on a daily basis, poisonous missives accusing her of murder, condemning her to an afterlife of eternal damnation. She couldn’t believe she’d been so blinded by him. He wasn’t the person she thought he was, and that hurt almost as much as the vitriolic letters. In the end, her parents went to see his parents. They threatened to take the matter to the police and the letters stopped coming, for a time.

  He still wrote to her, even now. Without fail, a letter appeared once a year on the anniversary of the day she had the abortion.

  ‘I’m not following you. I live here,’ said Sean.

  ‘London’s a big place, Sean. You followed me. I saw you a mile back on the high street pretending to look at television sets.’

  Sean’s eyes drooped, like a guilty child caught in a lie. ‘I wanted to speak to you.’

  ‘Have you followed me from Bristol?’

  He didn’t answer.

  May was momentarily impressed. ‘Have you lost your fucking mind? What’s all this about?’

  ‘I wanted to speak to you,’ he repeated.

  ‘About what? I don’t know if you are harbouring some fantasy about us getting back together. But that’s all it is, Sean. A fantasy.’ She regretted losing her temper, Sean receiving the full blast of all the tension building in her from the case.

  Sean was about to speak when two cars turned off the main road and headed towards them. The first car, a black cab continued driving to the hotel. The second car, a nondescript silver saloon stopped. May recognised the man who left the car. It was truly a night of coincidences.

  ‘Is this person giving you any trouble?’ said the man.

  May was not sure how to feel. She wasn’t some scared female needing protection. Sean was ready to run as the man approached and for that she was thankful. The man looked Sean up and down, his face full of distaste.

  ‘Who are you?’ said Sean, his voice softer than before.

  In that second, it all clicked into place. May understood everything. Unfortunately, it was too late. The man was quick. Quicker than May would have ever imagined. Still looking at Sean, he punched May in her left temple with the side of his hand. May trained two or three times a week in martial arts. She’d received blows to the head numerous times, normally when she’d been wearing protective head gear. The impact from the man’s punch was something else. It had been so unexpected, the force powerful and accurate. Her legs collapsed and she fell to the ground, her body nauseous. Through blurred vision she noticed a sliver of metal in the man’s hand shining in the glow of the street lights. She tried to push herself up but her leg and arm muscles had liquefied.

  Sean fell with a thud next to her. May had only a moment to note the vacant look in his eyes, the perfect slice of red across the flesh of his neck, before a second blow sent her into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 39

  Sunlight pierced the curtains, a shard of light momentarily blinding Lambert. His head thudded in time to the music which still played from the stereo. He switched off his iPhone but the thudding continued.

  Somebody called his name from the front door.

  ‘Mr Lambert,’ they shouted, banging their fists, ringing the doorbell. He got to his feet, his legs buckling. He placed his left hand against the living room wall to steady himself. His stomach lurched. He groaned at the mess, remembered throwing the glass and bottles at the wall. He was surprised his neighbours hadn’t called around earlier. He took some deep breaths and struggled towards the door, ready to apologise.

  ‘Mr Lambert.’ The sound was more insistent, louder. Through the glass panels of the front door Lambert made out three figures. He opened the door and shielded his eyes from the sunlight.

  DCI Nielson stood before him, flanked by two plain-clothed officers. ‘Sorry, did we wake you?’ said Nielson.

  Lambert checked his watch. It was one p.m. He hadn’t slept in so late since he’d been at University.

  ‘What do you want?’ His voice came out as a growl, almost unrecognisable to his ears.

  ‘You need to come with us, Lambert.’

  ‘Like fuck,’ said Lambert. He began pushing the door. Nielson stuck out his leg and kicked it open, splintering one of the panels.

  ‘That was unnecessary.’

  Nielson couldn’t hide the look of disgust on his face. ‘I’ll give you ten minutes to shower and get ready,’ said Nielson. ‘DI Sarah May is missing.’

  Nielson and his two accomplices shuffled around downstairs as he showered. Lambert’s head still thumped, his mouth and throat dry. He stood beneath the shower attempting to reconcile what he’d been told.

  DI May had last been seen leaving the Lewisham station at nine-thirty yesterday evening. She’d not returned to her hotel and hadn’t been seen since. Her mobile phone went straight to answerphone and could not be traced by location services. A body had been found in an alleyway, two hundred yards from the hotel where May was staying. Sean Laws, Sarah May’s ex-boyfriend. His throat had been sliced, a single surgical incision.

  Lambert’s hangover was of the type he’d started developing in his mid-twenties. He was anxious and on edge, remorseful for his behaviour the previous evening. He tried not to think about what Sophie had told him. Each time her words popped into his head he tried to blank them out. He knew she was lost to him now and he’d be damned if he was going to lose two women within twenty-four hours. He changed into one of his old work suits, a crisp white shirt which had returned from the dry cleaners two years ago and a navy blue tie.

  Downstairs, Nielson paced the living room, his two colleagues sitting on an armchair each. ‘Looks like you had
quite a party last night,’ he said, surveying the mess. The floor was littered with broken glass. One of the walls had a spreading damp patch from where the vodka bottle had hit it.

  ‘I had some bad news,’ said Lambert. He followed one of the officers outside, his legs still unsteady. The sound of thick blood pumping around his body reverberated in his ears. The journey to Lewisham was painful, the streets of south-east London gridlocked with traffic.

  Lambert was flanked by Nielson’s two colleagues as he entered the police station, Nielson walking in front. The four of them received curious glances as they walked through the station. Lambert spotted Cormack Riley who was about to say something when he noticed the strange formation of officers surrounding Lambert. Riley shot him a questioning look. ‘Call,’ mouthed Lambert under his breath.

  In the incident room, the glances were reserved solely for Lambert.

  The police officers didn’t look at him as an ex-DCI any more. He was now a suspect in Sarah May’s disappearance. He understood how they felt and didn’t judge them for their presumptions.

  ‘Come with me,’ said Nielson, leading him to an interview room. The other two officers slipped away.

  DCI Bardsley was waiting in the room. He stood as Nielson shut the door. ‘Mike,’ he said offering his hand.

  Lambert rubbed his face, tried to focus.

  ‘You need to tell us everything,’ said Nielson.

  ‘This is being taped?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘Just so we don’t miss anything.’

  Lambert repeated what he’d told May yesterday. From his first meeting in the coffee shop with Klatzky through to Sarah May turning up at his house yesterday. He presumed May had already shared the information.

  ‘Before we go any further, can you tell me your movements last night?’ said Bardsley.

  Lambert sighed. He was struggling to focus, the alcohol flooding his bloodstream.

  ‘Sorry, Mike, let’s just get it out of the way.’

  ‘Fine. I was out with my wife, Sophie. We went to a restaurant then went home.’

  ‘She’ll verify this?’ asked Nielson.

  ‘No, she’ll deny it. Of course, she’ll fucking verify it.’ Lambert thought back to Sophie’s revelation, the near-empty drinks cabinet. ‘However,’ he said, lightening his tone. ‘We had an argument and she left sometime around eleven. Hence, the state of the place when you called round.’

  Bardsley exchanged looks with Nielson and they dropped it. ‘You never thought of telling us about the photos?’ asked Nielson.

  ‘I did tell you,’ said Lambert.

  ‘You told DI May yesterday. Perhaps a few days late don’t you think?’ said Nielson.

  ‘I was leading my own investigation. I shared the information when I felt it was pertinent.’

  ‘Come on, Lambert, you’re not actively working at the moment. You can’t make those sorts of decisions. Put yourself in my place. When you were an active DCI, would you have let this sort of shit go down?’

  Lambert thought about Tillman. It was possible that his former boss would back him up. It was conceivable he’d say he’d given him permission to work on the case and backed him up with resources. However, it was more likely that he would hang him out to dry. The thought occurred to him again that the Souljacker was setting him up. ‘We’re all on the same side, Nielson. I want this killer found as much as you do and I want Sarah May found even more.’

  ‘You’re quiet,’ said Nielson, looking at Bardsley.

  ‘I don’t see what we’re gaining from this,’ said Bardsley in his Brummie drawl. ‘Mike’s not a suspect is he? Let’s use his expertise. He’s the one who found the link between the two sets of killings.’

  Nielson’s face fell, it was not the answer he expected from his colleague. ‘You were protecting your friend, Lambert. There’ll be an investigation into this afterwards,’ he said.

  ‘Where is Klatzky now?’ said Lambert.

  ‘In the cells. We questioned him earlier.’

  ‘So he was in custody when May disappeared?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what do we have on Sarah’s disappearance?’

  ‘Fuck all,’ said Bardsley. ‘We have her on CCTV leaving the station, walking along Lewisham High Road. We have another picture of her passing a bank in Blackheath. It looks like the ex-boyfriend, Sean Laws, was following her as he appears a few minutes behind her each time. Unfortunately, the CCTV cameras at the hotel don’t cover the ground where the body was found. We have a couple of number plates from cars passing the hotel at that time. Nothing of use yet.’

  ‘No note or anything?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do we know about this ex-boyfriend?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘Sean Laws, thirty-two. He was at school with DI May. We interviewed his parents this morning. They told us about his relationship with DI May,’ said Nielson.

  May had already told him some details about the man. ‘Was it serious?’

  Bardsley exchanged a glance with Nielson. ‘We’re keeping this under wraps for the time being until we have confirmation. According to the parents, DI May was once pregnant with Sean Laws’ child. She had an abortion. Laws has been obsessed with her ever since,’ he said.

  Lambert let the information sink in. He started to think like a policeman. ‘You don’t think Sarah had anything to do with Laws’ death?’

  ‘We can’t rule that out. From what the parents said, Laws was properly obsessed. The dad sounded a little embarrassed. May had threatened Laws with a court order in the past.’

  ‘And you think enough was enough, she sliced his neck two hundred yards from her hotel and fled the scene.’

  Nielson grimaced, and ran his hand through his bouncer haircut. ‘No, I don’t think that but we would be foolish to rule it out.’

  An image flashed into Lambert’s head. Sarah May prone on a bed, a faceless killer guiding a scalpel towards her eyes. ‘You need to scratch that idea. The Souljacker, Campbell, whoever the fuck he is. He’s taken her. That’s where we have to focus our energies.’

  ‘Do you think this has something to do with you, Michael?’ asked Bardsley, changing tack.

  ‘It’s crossed my mind, though I can’t see how or why.’

  ‘How well were you getting on with Sarah?’ he asked.

  ‘We were getting on fine. We went for drinks a couple of times.’

  Nielson stopped pacing the room and sat down.

  ‘So you were friends with Billy Nolan. You knew Terrence Haydon. Your friend Simon Klatzky was at counselling sessions the same time as Nolan. And you befriend a young DI and now she’s gone missing.’

  ‘Quick, lock me up,’ said Lambert.

  ‘Why do you think those photos were sent to Klatzky?’ asked Bardsley, ignoring the bickering. ‘Do you think the killer was trying to draw you into this?’

  ‘If so, it’s a very roundabout way of doing things,’ said Lambert.

  ‘Can you think of anyone who holds a grudge against you?’

  ‘You’re joking,’ said Lambert thinking of the hundreds of criminals he’d helped put behind bars.

  ‘Well, anyone specific related to Nolan, Haydon or Klatzky. Or even Sarah May.’

  ‘No one I can think of.’

  ‘Do you think you may have been the original target?’

  ‘What? When Nolan was killed?’

  ‘Just thinking aloud,’ said Bardsley.

  ‘I can’t see it,’ said Lambert. ‘But then we don’t have any real motive for Nolan’s death, or Haydon’s. Or any of them. Listen, I don’t want to sound dumb here but is Simon still a suspect?’

  Nielson sighed. ‘We don’t have enough to hold him. His whereabouts for the Haydon case has been confirmed. He was in rehab in Surrey. Was there for a month.’

  Lambert couldn’t help but laugh. ‘That worked out well for him. Has he given you anything?’

  ‘Not much initially. We’ll be questioning him again. He confirmed what you
told DI May about the photos and his mysterious lift home from Bristol. Bristol CID are trying to track down the car.’

  ‘What about the counselling sessions?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘He was less forthcoming on that but admits he did attend sessions there at the same time as Billy Nolan, though with a different counsellor. He remembered the Davidson woman. He didn’t know much about Nolan’s counsellor. He knew it was a man but couldn’t recall ever seeing him.’

  ‘Did you question him about his mother?’

  ‘Yes. Everything he said checked out with the medical records.’

  ‘Can I see him?’

  ‘No. Despite what DCI Bardsley has said, I want no more interfering from you. I should charge you as it is.’

  Lambert sighed. ‘There’s nothing else then?’

  ‘Not for now,’ said Nielson.

  Lambert was about to inform Nielson that he wasn’t asking for permission but decided he was too hungover for another confrontation. Bardsley walked him out of the station. ‘Friend of yours then?’ he said, when they reached outside.

  ‘What, Nielson? Yeah we’re best buddies.’ The wind had picked up, the fresh air invigorating him. ‘When will Klatzky be released?’

  ‘Soon. His alibi covers him for the Samuel Burnham murder and obviously he has the best alibi of all for Sean Laws, and May disappearing.’

  ‘So you’re definitely treating Sam Burnham and Kwasi Olumide as Souljacker victims?’

  ‘It’s the working theory. What I don’t understand is why Klatzky was sent the photos in the first place. I think you should be careful, Mike.’

  ‘It’s crossed my mind.’

  Bardsley placed his arm on his back. ‘It’s possible you know the killer. Be careful.’

  ‘That’s also crossed my mind. Will you keep me updated?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ said Bardsley shaking his hand. ‘You need to keep me updated as well. Where are you off to now?’

  ‘I’m going to wait for Klatzky. Find out what the hell he’s been playing at.’

  The pub nearest the station was the obvious place to wait. It was mid-afternoon and the bar was already bustling. Lambert recognised a couple of faces from the police station but they paid him no attention. A young barmaid asked him what he wanted to drink. He’d been told the best cure for a hangover was to continue drinking but the thought of anything alcoholic passing his lips at that moment made him nauseous. ‘Lemonade,’ he said.