Читать книгу Dead Eyed - Matt Brolly - Страница 13

Chapter 4

Klatzky sat alone in the student cafeteria, woefully out of place. Facedown, he nursed a small coffee occasionally giving the students a suspicious look. He was at once vulnerable and unsettling, and the café’s patrons subconsciously sat as far away from him as possible.

After Klatzky declined his offer of a second coffee, Lambert ordered a large black Americano from a young man behind the counter. Klatzky looked up at him with sullen eyes when he returned. ‘I thought I’d enjoy being here, Mikey, but there are way too many memories. Being here makes it feel like it happened yesterday. I can remember everything, what that sicko did to his body.’ Klatzky sipped at his coffee. ‘Christ, and the smell, Mikey. I can taste it now more than ever. Do you ever feel like that? It’s part of me now. The blood and the smell…what was that stuff called?’

‘The incense?’

‘Yeah.’ He took another longer sip of his coffee as if trying to drown out the memory. ‘One good thing came out of it though,’ he quipped, ‘I never went back to church again. Too much incense in Catholic churches. I don’t even feel the need to go to confession.’

‘Small mercies, I guess,’ said Lambert. Pontifical incense had been found on the body of each Souljacker victim, and Billy Nolan had been no exception. Traces of the incense, which contained frankincense, matched that used by a number of Catholic churches in the country. However, the substance was freely available so it had proved impossible for any trace to be made.

‘Listen, Si, I have a meeting later with the officer in charge of the case. I have some information that she may or may not know.’

‘Okay,’ said Klatzky.

‘The body they found last week, the body in the pictures you showed me, were of somebody called Terrence Vernon.’ Lambert tensed waiting for Klatzky’s response.

‘Terrence?’

‘Yes, Terrence. I found out last night that Terrence Vernon was using his mother’s maiden name as a surname. He used to be called Terrence Haydon. Do you remember Terrence Haydon, Si?’

‘Mad Terry?’ Klatzky’s face fell, his eyes wide in recognition. ‘He killed Mad Terry? Fucking hell, Mikey. What does this mean? What the hell’s going on?’ His words came out in short, rapid bursts, oblivious to the other people in the room.

‘Keep it down, Si,’ said Lambert, through gritted teeth. A few of the students looked in their direction. Mad Terry had been the uninspired nickname given to Terrence Haydon whilst at University. The nickname resulted from a few eccentric behaviours, such as walking with long, exaggerated steps as he made his way around. ‘I don’t know. It’s partly why I need to see DI May. There are so many possibilities at this juncture it’s not worth hypothesising.’

Klatzky gripped Lambert’s wrists, his hands sweaty. ‘But Billy hardly knew Mad Terry, what’s this to do with anything?’

Lambert unpeeled Klatzky’s fingers, and, grimacing, wiped the sweat off onto the plastic table covering. ‘It could mean anything or nothing,’ he said, softening his voice. ‘Maybe the killer thought Haydon knew something about him.’

‘After all this time?’

‘It’s a possibility. Perhaps Haydon contacted the authorities. There’s no way for me to know until I look into it in more detail.’

‘What if the killer’s coming after everyone involved in Billy’s killing? Everyone who knew him?’

‘Don’t be dramatic, you need to snap out of this. If he’s going to kill someone once every eighteen years there’s a good chance that we’re all going to be safe. Listen, I need to go. I’m not sure how long I’ll be but I’ll call you when I’m finished. Try to get some rest somewhere.’

‘Where do you suggest?’ asked Klatzky.

‘I don’t know. Find a sofa. But stay away from the bars.’

‘Any other orders?’

‘No.’

Lambert reached the coffee shop thirty minutes early. Like London, Bristol basked in the heat of the Indian summer. A number of people sat outside the glass-fronted café. One of the crowd, a woman with shoulder-length black hair, stood up as Lambert walked towards the entrance. ‘Mr Lambert?’ she said.

Lambert turned to face the woman. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m DI May. Sarah.’

‘How did you know who I was?’

‘Forgive me,’ said May, not once taking her gaze away from him. ‘Can I get you a coffee and perhaps we can go inside and talk.’

‘Decaf, thanks,’ said Lambert.

A blast of cold air hit Lambert as he entered the high-ceilinged coffee shop, at first refreshing then uncomfortable. DI May directed him to a small booth with high wooden benches. She returned with two drinks and smiled as she sat down opposite him. Her large brown eyes shone bright, full of confidence and intelligence. She wasn’t wearing make-up and Lambert wondered if her looks were a benefit or hindrance in her professional life. From his experience, he imagined it was probably a bit of both.

‘So tell me DI May…’

‘Sarah, please,’ said the woman with a soft, yet firm voice.

‘Sarah. Tell me what you found out about me?’

DI May leant forward in her chair, her gaze remained steady, never once leaving Lambert’s eyes. Most people would have found her glare unnerving, would have felt obliged to look away, but Lambert matched her look. She spoke with a sly amusement. ‘Well, first of all, possibly most importantly, I know you’re a friend of the last Souljacker victim, Billy Nolan. In fact, Mr Lambert …’

‘Please, Michael.’

May squinted her eyes. ‘Michael. You were initially a suspect.’

Lambert crossed his arms, deciding not to answer.

‘Of course, you were one of many potential suspects and were cleared very early on in the case.’

Lambert’s eyes widened, prompting the DI to continue.

‘After graduation you were accepted into the accelerated programme, where you excelled.’ She nodded in admiration, and let out a small laugh. ‘You moved up the ranks and reached DCI.’

Impressed by her research, Lambert didn’t interrupt.

‘And then the mystery.’

‘The mystery?’

‘Yes, six years ago your work becomes classified. I received a phone call from a Chief Super this morning for trying to access the details.’

‘Which one?’

‘Tillman.’

‘Right.’

‘So can you fill in those blanks for me, Michael?’

‘Afraid not. As the file says, classified.’ Lambert hadn’t given much thought to his personnel file before though it was obvious that his work with Tillman was classified. The blanks coincided from when he’d joined The Group. He made a mental note to access it later on The System. Although government sanctioned, in many ways the organisation were a law unto themselves. Their remit had been to investigate politically sensitive cases, and as such the need to avoid public scrutiny. It had been a tough transition for Lambert moving from normal CID to The Group. He’d found out early on that it was a balancing act. They’d worked out of the same offices as other task forces, and were supposedly subject to the same governing rules, but at times Lambert had been given leeway he’d never experienced before. The small team had been issued firearms and had received military intelligence-level training. Lambert had known it was somewhat of an experiment, and from his meeting yesterday Tillman wasn’t about to tell him if things had changed.

‘But apart from that, you’ve done very well, Sarah.’

She shot him a glance, but he could tell she knew he was teasing her. ‘So what can you tell me, Michael?’

Lambert didn’t want to be too pushy at the outset. ‘I’ve been doing a little reading on the case,’ he said.

‘Naturally,’ said May.

‘I was particularly interested in the victim, Terrence Vernon.’ He studied May for a response. If she was surprised she didn’t show it.

‘What about him?’

‘I was wondering how much you knew about him.’

‘How much information do you have on the case?’

‘As I said, I’ve read some notes.’

‘I understood you are not active at the moment. I read something on your file about an absence of leave?’ said May. The words were matter of fact, contained no hostility.

‘Something like that. I take it you’ve made the same connection I’d had about Mr Vernon.’

‘You’re talking about Mr Vernon’s other name?’

‘Yes.’

‘It was his mother who let it slip. I spent some time with her. She told me about her divorce and how Terrence had changed his name back from Haydon to Vernon after leaving University. From there, we made the link with Billy Nolan. They were at University together. He lived one floor above Billy Nolan.’ She paused. ‘One floor above you.’

Lambert paused, assessing the underlying words. ‘I needn’t have bothered you, then,’ he said.

‘You’re not bothering me. So tell me what else you know.’

‘Not much more than that,’ replied Lambert.

May’s face contorted into a half smile, half frown. ‘Oh come on, we’re not going to play those games are we?’

Lambert shrugged. ‘From what I can see it’s highly probably that it’s the same killer,’ he said, checking no one was eavesdropping.

‘Of course, you saw the original body. Your friend Nolan.’

Lambert thought back to the day when they’d kicked down Billy Nolan’s door. Nolan’s corpse with its bloodied sockets, lying naked on the bed. The smell, a terrifying mixture of death and decay, not fully masked by the overpowering perfume of the incense. Klatzky had been right. That smell was part of Lambert too. He could taste it now at the back of his throat. He took a large swig of his coffee mirroring Klatzky’s earlier actions. Once he’d composed himself he said, ‘The carving is the same. Identical. And the eyes. He was alive when they were removed?’ he asked, knowing the answer.

May pursed her lips. ‘They haven’t been recovered. Like the others. Were Nolan and Haydon friends at University?’

‘No. We all knew Terrence but he wasn’t what we’d call a friend.’

And what was he like as a person?’ May raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. A practised gesture which had no doubt obtained many a confession from helpless suspects.

‘I’m sure you know all this but he was bit of a strange one.’

‘Mad Terry,’ said May, surprising him once more.

‘Mad Terry. He was a nice enough guy, though. Intelligent. I assume he was hardworking because he was always at lectures. Never slept in. Hardly went out.’

‘Any enemies?’

‘No. People talked about him behind his back obviously, me included I’m afraid. He wasn’t a threat to anyone and no one had any grievance with him.’

‘No altercations with Nolan?’

‘Not as far as I’m aware. I would say it is highly unlikely.’

May ordered another coffee from the counter. Lambert asked for a glass of water, his bloodstream thick with caffeine. When she returned he tried to take the initiative. ‘So what are you working on at the moment?’ he asked.

‘Normal procedures. We’re looking into Haydon’s church. As before, there was incense at the crime scene so we’ve contacted local churches to see if any amounts have gone missing. But the problem with these guys is that they just don’t have strong stock control.’ She raised her eyebrows again, a completely different look to before. The gesture softened her face and made Lambert feel like she was being companionable.

‘We’re crosschecking the other murders too but the connection between this murder and Billy Nolan’s is our main focus at present. In fact if you hadn’t found me there was a good chance that I’d have had to find you.’

‘How can I help now?’ asked Lambert.

‘Maybe you could stick around for a bit. I could do with some insight on the Nolan murders, if that wouldn’t affect you too much? Obviously I would prefer it if you didn’t conduct your own investigation.’ Her eyes narrowed, Lambert understanding the warning. She hesitated for a beat, the first sign of indecisiveness he’d seen. ‘Perhaps we could meet for dinner this evening?’ she said.

‘Sure,’ said Lambert, a little quicker than he would have liked.

DI May stood up to leave. ‘It was a pleasure meeting you,’ she said, shaking his hand.

‘I’ll see you this evening,’ said Lambert. He relaxed as he watched May cross the floor of the coffee shop. The encounter had surprised him. May was more open than he’d expected, and he imagined how easy it would be to work with her.

As he was about to look away, May stopped and turned. ‘Oh, Michael. Please feel free to bring along Mr Klatzky this evening as well if you wish.’