Dead Eyed. Matt Brolly

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