Dead Eyed (8 page)

Before he had time to react, Lambert left the University building. Lance followed at a distance as Lambert walked down Park Street, heading for the Marriott hotel at the bottom of the hill.

Lance updated his boss.

‘Go back to the University and watch Klatzky,’ instructed Campbell.

Back at the building, following a gruelling trek back up Park Street, Lance showed the security guard a fake ID and went in search of the union bar. It was no surprise to find the second man there. Simon Klatzky sat at a table drowning his sorrows. Somehow he’d convinced a number of female students, attractive ones at that, to join him.

Lance ordered a Diet Coke from the bar and took a seat, imagining he was in for a long day.

Chapter 9

Like Bradbury had suggested,
Blood Kill
was full of authentic procedural detail but May found herself drawn to the story as well which was about the murder of teenage girl, a girl blind from birth. The main detective was a methodical and morally superior Superintendent. From what Bradbury had told her, Hastings had become obsessed with the Souljacker case during his time on the force. It had proved to be the major he case he never solved, and there was an obvious parallel to the girl in his novel. She wondered if writing the book was cathartic for Hastings, if the success of his fictional hero in finding the killer alleviated his own perceived failings. She closed the book halfway through, surprised how engrossed she had become with the case.

Jack Bradbury stopped her as she left the office.

‘I thought you’d want to know. Sandra Vernon called. Apparently your friend Michael Lambert paid her a visit earlier on today.’

‘How long ago?’ asked May.

‘A few minutes. She called as soon as he’d left. She wasn’t very happy. He claimed he was a friend of Terrence Haydon and had called around to pay his respects.’

‘True in a way, I suppose. Did she have anything else to add?’

‘That he was asking some odd questions. In particular about Terrence’s father.’

‘What did he want exactly?’

‘She sounded a bit pissed,’ said Bradbury. ‘Lambert wanted to know the man’s address. Vernon didn’t pass on the details.’

Although she didn’t consider him a serious suspect, May had placed Lambert’s picture on the incident board next to Klatzky’s. She’d warned him not to start his own investigation but knew he would still get involved. Procedurally it would be difficult to officially get him working on the case, though it would definitely be beneficial. ‘You saw Terrence’s father yesterday?’ she asked Bradbury.

Bradbury nodded. She remembered his report. The man lived alone in a council estate in Weston-super-Mare. Sad figure by all accounts. He hadn’t seen his son in over twenty years. ‘Okay, I’ll have another word with him today.’

‘What, Lambert?’

May crossed her arms. ‘Yes, Lambert. Is there anything else?’

‘No, ma’am,’ replied Bradbury. With a brief flash of the puppy dog eyes, he turned away.

The hospital was less than a mile from the Central Police Station so she decided to walk. As she left the building, she thought she saw a figure from her past. She rubbed her eyes, as the figure disappeared around a corner, and retrieved a pair of sunglasses from her bag.

May had arranged to meet Siobhan Callahan at the hospital. Callahan worked as an Occupational Therapist. She’d been one of the students on the fifth floor of the halls of residence during the period when Billy Nolan’s body was discovered eighteen years ago.

She’d also been Michael Lambert’s girlfriend.

May uncovered her following a thorough reading of the student statements. She couldn’t believe her luck when she’d discovered the woman worked less than a mile from her office.

The extended heatwave still gripped the city, the late September sky a cloudless blue. May trekked up the hill which led to the hospital and searched for Callaghan’s department on the noticeboard in the main foyer. She followed the green line which led to the occupational therapy department. She recalled her own time at University, and the boyfriends she’d had there. She didn’t know how she would have reacted if someone wanted to talk to her about any of them. She rarely dwelled on the past, couldn’t relate to the wide-eyed girl she’d been in her early twenties. She viewed her past like a voyeur, her memories akin to a reader imagining a character from a book.

Siobhan Callaghan was not what she’d expected. May had pictured a stereotypical Irish girl, buxom and red-haired. The woman in front of her had short, spikey black hair, and a thin wiry body. Her face had a boyish quality to it.

‘Oh yes, Inspector. Sorry, I’ve been rushed off my feet today. Please come on through.’ She led her through to a small white cubicle, with a desk, two plastic chairs and an elevated bed. Like the rest of the hospital, the small area had a clean antiseptic smell. ‘Please take a seat. Sorry, I didn’t quite get the gist of your call earlier. You mentioned something about that incident at the University all those years ago.’

‘Yes, thank you for seeing me at such short notice,’ said May. ‘You’ve read about the recent murder in Southville?’

‘Yes. Ghastly. I thought about poor Billy when I read it. You think it’s the same person? It’s what the papers think, isn’t it?’

May studied the woman. She sounded genuine, and nothing about her body language suggested otherwise. ‘I can’t comment on that. We’re speaking to everyone who was in halls on the night Billy Nolan’s body was discovered. I read your statement from that time.’

Callaghan struggled to keep eye contact with May. Her eyes darted upwards, as if replaying that night in her head. ‘I was asleep when all the commotion happened, thank God. I never saw him. Christ, am I thankful for that. I can imagine it really fucked most people up. Oh, sorry, excuse my language.’

May waved her hand dismissing the apology.

‘This one girl, Laura, she could barely speak. Her whole body was shaking. I remember putting my arm around her. She buzzed. It’s the only word I can use to describe it. It was like touching someone who’d had an electric shock. Her parents collected her the day after. I never saw her again. I’d known her for three years at University and that was that.’

‘It says on your file you had a boyfriend at the time?’

Callahan shifted in her chair. ‘Michael,’ she said, a slight lilt to her voice.

‘Yes, Michael…Lambert,’ said May, pretending to glance at her notes.

‘Poor guy,’ said Siobhan. ‘He was the one who found Billy. Broke down his door. Have you spoken to him about it?’

May nodded.

Siobhan’s eyes widened. ‘Oh.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He was a bit like Laura to begin with, and then he went silent. He was close to Billy, you know.’

‘Yes, what was he like?’

‘Billy or Michael?’

‘Michael.’

A brightness overcame Siobhan’s face, the memory clearly a fond one. ‘He was a sweet guy. What can I say, we were young. It was quite intense.’

‘Were you going out with him for long?’

‘Six, seven months.’

‘Was it a monogamous relationship?’

‘As far as I’m aware. Why all these questions about Michael?’

‘The most recent victim, he was also at University with you.’

‘What?’ said Siobhan, the colour vanishing from her face. ‘Michael wasn’t the victim, was he?’

‘No, no. Sorry, Siobhan. I didn’t mean to confuse you. The latest victim was called Terrence Haydon. He was at University at the same time as you.’

Siobhan caught her breath. ‘He was in halls with us? What floor was he on?’

‘Floor six. Some people called him Mad Terry?’

‘Don’t remember him. What’s this to do with Michael?’

‘Oh, nothing directly.’

Siobhan placed her hands in her lap. ‘You can’t think he has anything to do with it? That would be ridiculous.’

May leant forward, catching a waft of antiseptic from the corridor. ‘No, of course not. We’re examining all the connections in the two cases. And obviously Michael knew Billy very well. Did you know Michael’s other friends?’

Siobhan relaxed, her shoulders dropping. ‘Yeah, there was a gang of them.’

‘What were they like as a group?’

‘They were nice enough guys. They basically liked to drink and go with girls, like all boys that age.’

‘Remember Simon Klatzky?’

Siobhan pursed her lips. ‘He was hot,’ she said, giggling. ‘God, listen to me. Yeah, he was good friends with Michael. We’d all go out as a gang sometimes. I think he was really close with Billy. From what I heard it hit him really hard as well.’

May thought about the photo of Klatzky she’d posted on the whiteboard, the hard life he’d had since leaving University. ‘Was there any trouble amongst them as a group? Any fights, things like that?’

‘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.