Dead Eyed

by Matt Brolly

  He used his phone as a flashlight and scanned the kitchen. A puddle of vomit sat beneath the dining table. He edged closer and noticed a river of blood which flowed beneath the table surface, meandering towards the vomit.

  Through the kitchen door he made out a beam of light which shone from a room at the end of the corridor. He listened but the house was silent save for the gentle hum of the light bulb. Lambert considered possible scenarios. If Campbell was in the room, he could be asleep, could be reading a book, or could be waiting for him. He tiptoed down the hallway towards the room and stopped a metre from the entrance.

  He took a deep breath, and with a practised move swivelled his body into the room, his gun held out firm in front of him.

  There had been a fourth possibility he hadn’t considered.

  A man was waiting for him but wasn’t reading or sleeping. His broken body hung from a noose. A pool of excrement and urine dripped from his body onto the floor. With his gun still in front of him, Lambert walked around the body and peered up at the face. The man’s eyes were sealed shut. It was almost an exact replica of the pictures Lambert had seen of the deceased Samuel Burnham and Kwasi Olumide. The only difference this time being that in addition to the eyes, the man’s mouth was sealed shut as well.

  Lambert was about to put his gun away, when a second figure entered the room carrying a sawn-off shotgun duly pointed in Lambert’s direction.

  Lambert pointed the Glock at the man. ‘You are?’ asked Lambert.

  The man held the shotgun steady. This was obviously not a new situation for him. ‘Why don’t you put your gun down and I’ll tell you?’

  ‘That’s not going to happen.’

  They stood in silence for a time. ‘You’re Lambert,’ said the man.

  ‘And you are?’

  The man didn’t answer.

  ‘What about him?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘That’s Lance,’ said the man.

  Lambert kept his eyes focused on the man. He’d discharged a firearm on duty twice in his career. Once in America, and once when he’d rescued Tillman from his torturers. He had no issue in using it. He would have used it already. He was certain he could drop the man before he could use the shotgun, but he needed to know where Sarah May was being held.

  The man retreated to the back wall. He took a seat on a frail-looking wooden chair, behind a small oval-shaped dining table. He kept the gun pointed at Lambert.

  Lambert studied the man’s face. He placed him in his late fifties, early sixties. He had a fine covering of grey hair on his head, his face sprinkled with shards of silver stubble. His eyes were alert, intelligent. ‘Campbell?’ asked Lambert.

  A flicker of surprise appeared on the man’s face, and disappeared in a flash.

  ‘If you put your gun down, we can sort something out,’ said Lambert.

  ‘Right,’ said the man, not moving a muscle. ‘This has no happy ending.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. Tell me where Sarah May is and I promise we can sort something out.’

  The man laughed. ‘I’m a bit long in the tooth for such horseshit, Mr Lambert.’

  ‘Is she alive?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘What the fuck does that mean? Where is she, what have you done to her?’ Lambert gripped the gun tighter, willed himself not to use it.

  ‘You’re not in a position to negotiate, Mr Lambert.’

  ‘Let me appeal to your decency then. You don’t normally take females. I know many of your victims deserved to die.’

  ‘You really think so?’

  ‘Many were criminals. You went beyond what was necessary, but I can understand the natural justice aspect. But why Sarah May? What has she done to you?’

  ‘Nothing. I don’t think you really understand what this is all about.’

  ‘Why don’t you clear up things for me?’

  Campbell had called the dead man Lance. The name didn’t register with Lambert. He hadn’t come across it in the investigation so far. The corpse dangled to his left, the sound of the rope creaking in the close confines of the room. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Lance?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘A loose end.’

  ‘Why do you seal their eyes? Why Lance’s mouth?’

  ‘You need to look a bit harder,’ said the man, placing the shotgun beneath his chin.

  Lambert stepped forward, his voice urgent. ‘What are you doing, Campbell? There’s no need for that. Where’s Sarah May, Campbell? Where the hell is she?’

  For a split second, Campbell was confused, even a little scared.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, pulling the trigger.

  Chapter 44

  The sound of the shotgun reverberated in the small confines of the room. The bullet travelled through the top of Campbell’s head, tearing a hole in the roof, decorating the room with blood and matter.

  Lambert froze on the spot, the sound of the gun still ringing in his ears. The sight of Campbell was enough to test the hardest of constitutions. Campbell’s head simply no longer existed. It had been blown into a thousand tiny fragments. In its place, the stump of his neck vomited blood like a volcano leaking the occasional burst of lava.

  Lambert realised he’d been holding his breath. He exhaled, falling to his knees. He took shallow breaths, told himself he had to continue. He checked the man’s sodden clothing for any clue of Sarah May’s location. His pockets were empty, as were the pockets of the man he’d called Lance.

  He couldn’t call it in yet, not with the gun on him. He made a frantic search of the house using a set of fragile aluminium step ladders to reach the attic. He covered every inch of the house then returned to his car and drove twenty miles to a hotel he’d passed on the journey there. He booked a room using a set of false ID he carried. Once in the room, he placed his gun and holster in the room’s safe. He showered and changed into a set of fresh clothes and cancelled the delayed email he’d prepared for Tillman. Ten minutes later, he returned to the car and drove back towards the crime scene and called Bardsley.

  ‘I think I’ve found Campbell,’ he said.

  It wasn’t long before Campbell’s house was alive with activity. A line of police cars snaked down the narrow lane which led to the house. The crime scene was cordoned off as the SOCOs arrived.

  Lambert waited outside as Bardsley supervised the crime scene officers.

  ‘This is foolhardy, even for you,’ said Bardsley when he returned. His former colleague was more animated than Lambert could remember, the thick tendons of his neck springing to attention. ‘What the hell were you thinking? You could have been killed.’

  ‘It was only a hunch, I didn’t want to bother you,’ said Lambert.

  Bardsley eye’s opened wide to comical effect. ‘You didn’t want to bother me?’ he said, mimicking Lambert’s tone.

  ‘I had a tip from an informant. If I came to you every time I had a thought we’d never be off the phone to one other.’

  ‘Let me get this straight. You had a tip that this is where Campbell lives, Campbell being the only link we have between two mass murderers, and you thought you’d come alone with absolutely no backup. What were you expecting to find?’

  ‘I was hoping to find Sarah,’ said Lambert.

  ‘You’re lucky to be alive,’ he repeated.

  Lambert shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Fuck me. Why didn’t Campbell shoot you?’

  ‘Would that have made you happier?’ said Lambert.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Mike. I should arrest you, you know. Nielson warned you not to interfere. He’s on his way over, by the way.’

  ‘If I hadn’t interfered, Josh, we’d never have found his body. Have you had any luck identifying either of them?’

  ‘No. No forms of ID in the house as of yet. We’ve taken some photos of their faces but we don’t hold many snapshots of people with their eyes and mouth sealed shut, or their faces obliterated by a shotgun.’

  ‘I don’t think Campb
ell is the killer,’ said Lambert.

  Bardsley paused. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘He was scared. I asked about Sarah May and he acted confused, and as you said, why didn’t he shoot me and escape? He was resigned, as if he’d had enough. As if he was scared.’

  ‘You came here unarmed?’ asked Bardsley.

  ‘Of course. May’s not here, and time’s running out, Josh.’

  Bardsley sighed. ‘Don’t leave,’ he said, moving to a group of officers who’d returned from the woodland to the side of the house.

  DCI Nielson appeared, a number of colleagues in tow. The man glared at Lambert as if he was to blame for the atrocities he’d discovered in the house.

  Lambert refused to speak to him. Bardsley took an official statement. ‘You’re the only one who’s seen Campbell’s face,’ he said.

  ‘You want me to scan the database?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘It would be helpful. Get to the station and we can get to work. We have a facial recognition expert.’

  ‘Fancy.’

  Bardsley let him leave four hours later. Nielson had insisted that his car was checked over before leaving, Lambert relieved to have taken the gun back to the hotel.

  Lambert’s vision began to blur as he drove the short distance to the hotel. He reached the place in time and collapsed asleep on the bed seconds after checking the safe for the weapon. He slept for three hours, his dreams peppered with images of Billy Nolan and Terrence Haydon, eyes missing, vague inscriptions on their bodies. The victim from earlier that evening, hanging from the rafters, his mouth sealed shut locked in an internal scream and Campbell, taking the shotgun to his mouth, a flicker of fear in his eyes.

  Chapter 45

  Lambert rushed through a breakfast of coffee and toast, and drove to Lewisham where a joint incident room had been set up. The night had clarified his thoughts. Campbell wasn’t the Souljacker. At least not the only one. He was part of a team, and Lambert had an idea who led the cabal.

  He parked a mile away and walked to the police station. The cold air bit at his skin as he called Klatzky, leaving a message warning him to go into hiding, and to call him as soon as possible.

  Lambert couldn’t remember seeing so many police officers in the same room at any one time. The open-plan office was divided into three sections. On one glass-backed noticeboard was the Souljacker investigation. Pictures of Terrence Haydon, Sandra Hopkins, and the older victims, Billy Nolan included, decorated the centre of the noticeboard. Other images were on the periphery, photos of those linked to the case, including one of Lambert and a much younger photo of Simon Klatzky.

  A second noticeboard showed the victims of the second killer, Kwasi Olumide, Samuel Burnham, and last night’s victim, known only as Lance. A blown-up picture of Lance glared down at him from the noticeboard. It showed in detail the rope marks on his neck, his bloated white cheeks, the line of thick thread through both his eyes and mouth. Next to him was a picture of Campbell’s body, the only picture they had for him, taken from a distance, his face obliterated by the shotgun blast.

  And finally a section of the room was dedicated to DI Sarah May. A picture of the missing police woman hung on a third noticeboard.

  ‘Mike,’ said DCI Josh Bardsley walking over to him. ‘If there was ever a time to commit crime in Greater London it would be now,’ he said, gesturing to the officers in the room. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to face questioning this morning. The Assistant Chief Constable’s here. Shit is flowing in all directions.’

  ‘That’s fine with me,’ said Lambert. ‘Anything to help find Sarah.’

  Bardsley walked him over to the middle section of the incident room. ‘We’ve an ID on last night’s hanging victim. Lance Crosby, forty-four. Served seven years for embezzlement in his twenties then went off the radar since his release. No known address. The man hasn’t paid tax or national insurance since leaving prison.’

  ‘The suicide? Campbell.’

  ‘Haven’t confirmed identification. However, we’ve matched his fingerprints. Present at the crime scenes of Haydon, Hopkins, Burnham, and Kwasi Olumide. His DNA was all over Lance Crosby as well.’ He hesitated, lowered his voice. ‘Look, we also found his DNA on Sean Laws.’

  Lambert let the information settle. ‘You think you’ve found him, don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t you? Everything points to Campbell being the Souljacker and the second killer, yes,’ said Bardsley. ‘One thing still bothers me though.’

  ‘Why didn’t he shoot me?’ said Lambert.

  ‘Yes. Any thoughts yet?’

  Lambert visualised the incident. He couldn’t tell Bardsley he’d had a gun as well, and didn’t think it made a difference. ‘I think he was scared.’

  ‘Scared? Of what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Being caught?’

  ‘He could have shot you and fled the scene. It’s not as if you had any backup.’

  ‘Reprimand acknowledged. Listen, Josh, I can’t offer any proof but I think Campbell was part of a team. If you think about all these recent killings, Haydon, Hopkins, Burnham, Olumide, and this Lance character, it sounds too far-fetched for me that one person is responsible,’ said Lambert.

  Bardsley sighed. ‘You’ll need to give us more than that. I realise it’s a pointless question, as you’d tell if you wanted me to know, but are you holding anything back? Is there something you’re not telling me?’

  Lambert considered telling Bardsley the theory he’d been working over in his head since last night. It sounded too absurd to voice at the moment. He needed something concrete before he started making accusations. ‘You’re right. I’ll tell you when I can.’

  ‘Okay, Michael, have it your way. At the moment this is a missing person’s case. Our focus is on where Campbell was hiding May.’

  Nielson and Bardsley summoned the teams together. Nielson took the lead, explaining what everyone already knew about Campbell. ‘DI May is our priority now,’ he said. ‘She’s been missing for thirty-six hours so every minute counts.’

  One of May’s team, DS Bradbury, sat in the front row of officers. He wore a brown linen suit, his face downtrodden as if he hadn’t slept in days.

  ‘As you know this a joint operation across three departments. I’d expect nothing less than full cooperation from everyone.’

  Lambert watched the officers leave, wondering if he would ever be part of their number again.

  He exchanged looks with Nielson. ‘What are you still doing here, Lambert?’

  ‘I want to know if there is anything I can do to help. I can be of use to you.’

  ‘I’m sure we’ll get your help whether we like it or not,’ said Nielson, his voice drained of animation.

  Bardsley pulled Lambert to one side. ‘Don’t worry about him. He’s under a lot of pressure at the moment. First thing, I need you to work with our face recognition expert. She’ll be here in a moment. After that, the best thing you can do is to find Klatzky for us. We’ve officers checking his house again. When the bars are open we’ll be checking there. But if you could think of anything else?’

  ‘I’ll get looking,’ said Lambert.

  ‘Thanks, Mike, and when you’re ready to share…’

  ‘You’ll be first to know.’ Lambert shook hands with Bardsley, knowing someone from his team was probably investigating him as well.

  He spent the next hour with a sketch artist. Bardsley had worked with the woman before and insisted it was worth persevering with. Every time Lambert pictured Campbell it was with the gun beneath his chin, the mask of calmness evaporating. Bardsley was right, the sketch artist was exceptional. Within the hour she’d mocked up a pencil sketch of the man which mirrored Lambert’s memory from last night. Whether it would help identify the man was another matter. They would print the finished sketch and distribute it, and would use the measurements from the picture to compare it to images on their database.

  ‘Mr Lambert?’

  Lambert placed the finished sketch on
the desk.

  ‘DC Rebecca Shah, sir. I’ve been asked to go through the database with you.’

  Lambert handed her the completed picture and thanked the sketch artist. ‘Make copies of this first and get them distributed. We need to get the tech boys to see if they can find a match.’

  Shah returned ten minutes later. ‘I’ve sent the details to all teams. We’ll get that bastard’s picture to everybody,’ she said.

  Lambert didn’t answer. He’d spent the last hour concentrating on Campbell’s face, and now could think of nothing else. Those last minutes at the house still troubled him. Bardsley had mentioned it earlier. Campbell could have attempted to shoot him. He’d had nothing to lose. Something had stopped him, spooked him so much that he’d taken his own life rather than taking his chances with Lambert.

  The young DC, Shah, worked through the software with him. Campbell’s picture had been sent to a specialist department who were using photo recognition software to find a match on the database. Lambert was convinced they would be unsuccessful.

  ‘Did you know her well?’ asked Shah.

  ‘I know her, yes,’ said Lambert.

  ‘No, sorry, I didn’t mean to speak in the past tense. It’s just, I was the last officer to see her before she left.’

  ‘No one’s blaming you, Shah. She was taken by the hotel.’

  ‘I know. Anyway, I’ll do anything to help find her.’

  ‘Good, let’s keep working.’

  An hour later, Bradbury appeared. ‘May I have a word, sir?’

  Lambert still remembered the man’s insolence at the station back in Bristol. He noted the respectful request and wondered if there was a catch.

  ‘My team has been doing some more work on the church in Bristol. Gracelife?’

  ‘I’ve had the pleasure of visiting that establishment, yes.’

  ‘Following the information you uncovered about the counselling sessions, we contacted the churches linked to the other victims to see if they ran any counselling sessions. We’ve had a hit with one in Congresbury.’