Dead Eyed

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‘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.’

‘What’s he like now?’

‘Yeah, he seems really nice. What happened to you guys after University?’

Siobhan walked her to the hospital elevator. ‘We met up once. He came to stay with me at my parents’ house for a week. He decided to go travelling for a year.’

‘And you didn’t want to go with him?’

‘We talked about it. I had another year at University as I was studying for my Masters. We said we’d stay in touch,’ said Siobhan. ‘But we never did.’

Back at the station, May changed into her running gear, skin-tight running trousers and a fluorescent yellow jacket. She thought about the touch of melancholy in Siobhan’s voice as she recalled not staying in touch with Lambert, and briefly regretted that no one from her past could provoke the same reaction in her. She tied up her running shoes, pulling the laces tight until it squeezed her feet and left the locker room.

As she left the changing room one of the uniforms, a constable by the name of Bickley, laughed. ‘Shit, I’m deaf,’ he said, pretending to shield his ears from the loudness of May’s jacket.

‘Very amusing. Better safe than sorry, don’t you think, Constable?’ she said, playing along.

‘No one’s going to miss you, that’s for sure, ma’am.’

May tried to run at least three times a week. It was five miles from the station to the house she shared with her father. He had moved in with her three years ago following the death of her mother. She couldn’t face him living alone, and they’d managed to make the living arrangements work.

Approaching rush hour, the roads next to the station were gridlocked with traffic. She started at a steady pace, her breathing increasing as she upped her pace. She noticed admiring glances as she ran but kept her eyes straight on the road ahead. Running gave her time to think. She never wore earphones like some of the other runners. She liked the sound of the world moving by, the rush of the air as she pounded the pavement.

It had been five days now since she’d been put in charge of the Souljacker case. Superintendent Rush had yet to apply any firm pressure. If it was the same killer, then it was the tenth victim in twenty-three years and although no one had come close to catching the killer, something about the way things were unfolding told her things were different this time. The link between Haydon and Nolan was crucial and in addition it was conceivable that lack of practice had made the killer sloppy. Seven different strands of unidentified DNA had been found at Haydon’s flat, but only one strain on the corpse. It had been found in Haydon’s hair but nowhere else in the house.

Now all they needed was a suspect to match the DNA on Haydon’s body. The thought drove her on, her pace increasing as additional adrenalin pumped into her bloodstream.

She started to tire four miles into the journey. Her legs filled with lactic acid as she tried to maintain her pace. It was unusual for her but not unexpected. She’d hardly slept since she’d been assigned to the case and her diet had been awful, cheap takeaways for breakfast, lunch and dinner. She needed an early night, a chance to clear her head but she’d suggested meeting Lambert later that evening. It had sounded like a good idea at the time but she was beginning to regret her decision. It had been impulsive, and if any of her previous staff appraisals were anything to go by, impulsiveness was her one major character flaw. It had led her into trouble more than once, both personally and professionally.

She pushed through the pain in her legs and increased her pace for the last mile. She liked to sprint the last few hundred metres home. She enjoyed the sensation of her body working at full throttle, everything pulling together, driving her forward. She reached the gates to her house and clicked her stopwatch. With her hands behind her head, she leant forward, her open mouth sucking air into her lungs.

‘Good time?’ asked her father as she opened the front door. He held a glass of red wine in one hand, the crossword section of the newspaper in the other.

‘It wasn’t a personal best,’ said May, her breathing returning to normal.

Her father went to reply. She could tell by the way he looked at her jacket that he was about to unleash some quip about the brightness of the material. He thought better of it, knowing her humour wasn’t at its highest at the end of a long run.

She read a few more chapters of Blood Kill before showering, and found herself relating more and more with the protagonist of the story. She sensed the man’s anguish as he searched for the killer of the blind girl and wondered if the real life Hastings would be similar to his fictional counterpart. Hastings had stipulated a meeting time of seven a.m. for tomorrow which had destroyed her plan of a good night’s sleep.

It was too late to cancel Lambert now. Anyway, she wanted to talk to him. He’d visited Sandra Vernon, and subsequently the minister of their small church, despite agreeing not to pursue his own investigation. She had to show him she should be taken seriously. What better way to do so than by going out for dinner with him, she thought ruefully.

She tried on a number of dresses before finding the perfect balance, a standard long-sleeve black dress which stretched below her knees. She scrubbed up well in the mirror but didn’t want Lambert to get the wrong idea.

She checked her email before leaving and was surprised to see an email titled:

Why did you ignore me?

At first she thought it was a joke but then she read the name of the sender, Sean Laws. She’d thought she’d imagined it, but it must have been him she’d seen on the way to the hospital. He hadn’t waved, so she hadn’t ignored him. She opened the email.

Hi Sarah, Only joking. I don’t know if you saw me but I spotted you out and about today. I’m in Bristol for a few days on work. I didn’t want to disrupt you. You looked so beautiful, walking along. It was really good to see you again. Maybe if you’ve time we could meet up for a chat?

He signed the email Sean with a solitary kiss and his phone number.

May slammed her laptop shut, her hands shaking. She had an absurd impulse to run down the stairs and tell her dad. Despite his age, she knew he would grab his coat and start scouring the city until he found Sean.

Sean Laws, the ex-boyfriend she’d once threatened to take to court.

Chapter 10 (#ulink_13be8ed6-8fb0-5a43-8cca-33fb1c59030c)

Lambert spotted the car two minutes after leaving the hotel. A silver Mercedes, this year’s plates, too grandiose to be police. Through the blacked out windows, he made out the vague silhouetted figure of the driver. He made a mental note of the number plate and took the short walk up Park Street to the restaurant, stopping occasionally to see if the car had followed him.

Twenty minutes early, he took a seat and ordered a cold bottle of lager as he waited for Sarah May to arrive. He’d left Klatzky at the hotel bar holding court with the four students from this morning, his concerns about the photos temporarily washed away.

Sarah May arrived at exactly eight o’clock. Dressed in a figure-hugging black dress, she carried a small handbag. Her hair hung loose on her shoulders, and Lambert wished he’d made more of an effort with his own appearance. He rose from his seat and offered his hand. She shook it, ignoring his awkwardness, her manner half-professional, half-cordial.

After ordering drinks, Lambert questioned May about her career. She described a meteoritic rise through the ranks that, to some extent, mirrored Lambert’s progress. She talked about her colleagues and some of the issues she faced as a woman in the force.

It began to feel like a date until May dashed that notion during the main course.

‘Now, Michael,’ she said, her tone snapping from casual to business-like. ‘I believe I told you not to follow your own investigation.’

Lambert straightened up in his chair. ‘You’re talking about my meeting with Sandra Vernon?’

‘Yes.’

His eyes widened in mock surprise. ‘You’re not having me followed are you, DI May?’

May blinked, her mouth curling into the slightest of smiles. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have resources for such frivolous behaviour. But I thought if you were the interfering type, and I thought that perhaps you were, your first port of call would be with Miss Vernon.’

He couldn’t tell if she was playing with him or if her annoyance was genuine. ‘You spoke to her today?’ asked Lambert.

‘After you visited her house.’

Lambert drank long from his glass of red wine, enjoying May’s scrutiny. Clearly he was being tested. ‘I was paying my condolences.’

‘That’s right. And the questions about Haydon’s father?’

Lambert laughed. ‘I wanted to pay my condolences to him as well.’

May leant in. ‘We’ve spoken to Mr Haydon. There’s nothing much to be gained from him. From the report I was given, he’s just a sad, washed up alcoholic.’

‘It was only condolences,’ said Lambert.

May lowered her voice. ‘Because you and Haydon were so close? Look, I understand the experience you can bring to the case. I’d be happy to share information with you but you must understand the complications that arise from you being involved. You’ve really pissed off Miss Vernon. It could damage our investigations.’

Lambert lifted his glass again and placed it back down without taking a drink. He’d been waiting for May to speak her mind. How the next few minutes went could possibly define their relationship. ‘I do appreciate that,’ he said. There was little the DI could do about his involvement and she probably understood that as well as he did, but he didn’t want to upset her at this stage. ‘I’ll keep a low profile for the time being,’ he conceded.

‘Thank you,’ said May.

They sat in silence for a time, Lambert sneaking the odd glance at his companion. He thought about his former colleagues, how rarely he had enjoyed a strong professional relationship with someone. He held onto his wine glass, went to speak and stopped.

‘What did you think of Miss Vernon?’ asked May, choosing to rescue him from his inaction.

Lambert sat back, decided he would trust May for the time being. ‘I would say eccentric if I was being polite.’

‘And if you weren’t being polite?’

Lambert thought about the coldness he’d sense from the woman, the hatred she’d vocalised about her ex-husband. ‘I couldn’t possibly say. Did you speak to her about her Terrence’s father?’

‘Not in great detail.’

‘Her reaction was over the top to say the least. I think you need to dig deeper, there’s something she’s holding back.’

‘Okay. I’ll question her again. You think the father is involved?’

‘Not directly.’ As this was a serial case it was unlikely the killer was a family member. ‘But there is definitely something she is not sharing. How about you, where are you on the case?’

‘You’ll know about the DNA found at the scene? No match on the databases, unfortunately. Our main area of investigation is the link between Haydon and Nolan.’

‘Makes sense. And the older cases?’ he asked, remembering what he’d read on HOLMES.

May tilted her head back. She didn’t answer immediately. Lambert sensed she was debating whether or not to share the information with him. ‘We’re looking at the older cases one by one. As you know, it’s nearly twenty years since the last murder. It’s possible something was overlooked in the past, or that there is a link we can tie in with Terrence Haydon.’

‘Anything significant so far?’

‘Not for me. There is a vague theory about churches at the moment. A high proportion of the victims were affiliated one way or another to a church. It might be significant but I can’t see how at the moment.’

‘Billy wasn’t religious,’ said Lambert, pleased that May was sharing the information even though he already knew it.

‘There you go. I was going to ask, have you ever done any cold case work on this over the years? I’m sure it must have been tempting.’

Lambert shifted in his seat. ‘I’ve tried to put it behind me. You can let these things define you if you’re not careful,’ he said, thinking that Billy’s death would always be a part of him even if he ever caught whoever was responsible.

After dinner, May walked him back to his hotel. She quizzed him again about the blank entries in his work record, the inquiry light-hearted.

‘There’s no great mystery.’ He’d drunk too much wine, her company relaxing him.

‘Who said anything about a mystery? Don’t hype yourself up.’ She gently shoulder-charged him, forcing him to stumble.

‘You’re quite impressive, DI May. I can never tell for sure if I’m being interrogated or not. Such confusion is not normal for me.’

‘I’m off the clock now,’ she said, as they reached the hotel entrance. She turned to him, her left cheek curling slightly into a smile: a beautiful and stark contrast to the snarl he’d seen earlier that day on Sandra Vernon’s face. He wondered what would happen if he leant in to kiss her, and took a step backwards realising he’d drunk even more than he’d imagined.

‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ said May, saving him the embarrassment. She offered her hand which he shook savouring the warm softness of her flesh.

He said goodbye and retreated to the hotel, a sudden sense of fatigue spreading through him. He spotted Klatzky in the hotel bar, his arms wrapped around the black-haired student from the morning. They were alone, two wine bottles on the table before them. Lambert tried not to think about how much it would be costing. He retreated upstairs before either of them saw him.

Back in his hotel room, he checked his email and phone messages. Sophie had left a voicemail asking when he would be home. She would be asleep now so he sent her a text. Restless, he logged into The System. As he was using the hotel’s Wi-Fi, he had to pass through a number of extra security measures before gaining access.

He checked Sarah May’s file first, verifying what he’d been told over dinner. He checked for updates on HOLMES, and saw the name of his ex-girlfriend, Siobhan Callahan. May had met her earlier that day, not long after speaking to him. DI May moved fast and hadn’t shared as much with him as he’d thought. He tried to picture what Siobhan would look like now. She’d been such a slight thing, wild, spikey hair, a tattoo on her shoulder. He couldn’t imagine her now, wasn’t sure he wanted to know how time had changed her.

He studied the rest of the Haydon file. He knew most of the document by heart now, but began reading from the start again. He always worked this way. The repetition helped him process the information, his mind working on the finer details he may have initially missed. Instead of merely scanning, he studied each page of the file, analysing the structure and each individual word of the report until it stopped making sense.

He switched off the light and lay on the bed listening to the hum of the air conditioning circling the room. His head was overrun with images. Sleep was elusive, the wine he’d drunk keeping him awake. Alone in the darkness, his thoughts always returned to his daughter, Chloe. During the day he tried to keep busy, distracting himself with the mundane activities of life. But she never totally left him. She lingered in the faces of strangers, her voice whispered in their conversations. At night he had no way of deflecting her. He tried to turn his thoughts to the case, but however hard he concentrated they spiralled back to Chloe. His throat constricted as he fought back tears. He snapped the light back on and left the room, in time to see Simon Klatzky, his arm draped across his young student friend, trying to open the door to his hotel room. Lambert stepped back and took the opposite route around the floor towards the lift.