Dead Eyed (23 page)

‘Help you?’

‘I’m here to see Myles,’ said Lambert.

‘He’s a bit busy at the moment, mate. We’ve got an important job on.’

‘Tell him Lambert’s here to see him.’

The man went to argue but a look at Lambert’s body language changed his mind. Fifteen minutes later, Myles Stoddard walked through the front door of the Portakabin. He was dressed in identical overalls to the bearded man. It had been nearly five years since Lambert had seen him. He was the same beanpole figure. The lank hair which fell from his head was thinner, faded. His shoulders drooped on seeing Lambert.

‘What do you want?’

‘Good to see you too, Myles,’ said Lambert.

The man straightened up. ‘Don’t think I haven’t heard about you. You’re no longer working.’

‘Don’t believe everything you hear, Myles. Take a seat.’

An old leather sofa took up half the space inside the Portakabin, next to an ancient drinks machine which offered instant coffee, tea and soup. Lambert sat down. ‘Sit,’ he instructed.

‘I’ll stand,’ said Stoddard.

Lambert glared at the man. ‘Sit.’

Stoddard rolled his eyes and sat next to Lambert, the sofa barely big enough for the pair of them. Lambert put his arm around the back of the sofa and glared at Stoddard. The man tried to recoil but there was no space for him to move. ‘A colleague of mine came to see you recently, DCI Bardsley.’

‘Jesus, not that again. Look, I’d nothing to do with that. I hardly ever see Burnham.’

‘Well you won’t be seeing him any time soon, will you?’

‘No, but why are you guys hassling me? I was only his mechanic.’

Lambert laughed, an exaggerated humourless sound.

Stoddard rolled his eyes again.

‘Look, I don’t care whatever angle you were working with him, Myles.’

‘I wasn’t working any…’

Lambert raised his hand to stop the man’s protests. ‘Whatever it was, I don’t care. I’m only interested in what happened to Burnham. Who was responsible?’

‘Well, it wasn’t me.’

‘Well, of course it wasn’t you, Myles. You’re a two-bit criminal, you haven’t the balls for murder. Not something like that anyway.’

Stoddard was deflated, as if not having the capacity for murder-mutilation was an insult.

‘But I read your statement and there was something you didn’t tell my colleague. You are holding some information back and I need to know what that is.’

‘You don’t know shit,’ said Stoddard.

Lambert edged closer. Stoddard started blinking, a nervous habit Lambert remembered from before.

‘Who was Burnham working with? There must have been someone. This wasn’t a random thing.’

Stoddard rubbed his chin. His eyes darted to the ceiling. Lambert allowed him thirty seconds for his internal debate. ‘You either tell me now,’ said Lambert, ‘or I’ll get Bardsley back here with some uniformed police this time. And I’ll start asking about you in local bars, get your name out there.’

Stoddard’s thin body shrivelled more into the sofa.

‘I don’t work for you any more, Lambert. That was a long time ago.’

‘Once you sign on with me, Myles, it’s for life. Now what ’d’you have to tell me?’

‘Oh Christ, I don’t know. As I told your mate I only saw him once a year when he came in for a service and MOT. But I heard rumours.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Jesus, he had a few bad years apparently. Got into debt. I heard he was in big with some loan shark guy.’

‘Name?’

‘Oh come on, I can’t tell you that.’

‘Name,’ repeated Lambert, and then softer, ‘you’re not going to be mentioned, Myles, and you won’t see me again.’

‘I don’t know who the guy is. Never seen him. All I know is that he goes by the name of Campbell and if you ask the right people I guess he can be found.’

Lambert couldn’t recall any mention of the name Campbell on the report. ‘You must have more than that for me, Myles. A first name.’

‘I swear, that’s all I know. I’m not even sure this guy exists.’

‘Don’t get all existential on me, Myles.’

‘What?’

Lambert sighed. ‘What do you mean you’re not sure he even exists?’

Stoddard’s blinking intensified. ‘I don’t know. He’s like an urban legend or something.’

‘An urban legend?’

‘Yeah. You go to Campbell if you need help, but no one ever sees him. I don’t know, Mr Lambert. I have nothing to do with this nowadays. I hear rumours now and again, that’s all.’

Lambert placed his hand on Myles’ shoulder. ‘Thanks, Myles. Pop back to work now.’

A name. Campbell. Lambert took the tube to Paddington. He called DCI Bardsley whilst he waited for his train to Bristol.

‘You working on my case as well now?’ asked Bardsley.

‘I like to be of assistance,’ said Lambert.

‘Well, we could always use you here when you’re ready to make a comeback.’

‘I’ll keep it in mind,’ said Lambert. ‘So what do you know about this Campbell?’

‘I’ve heard the name before. I’ll speak to the rest of the team and see what they know. I may need to pay Mr Stoddard a little visit.’

‘I promised we’d stay away from his work.’

‘Fair enough. I’ll get back to you if we get more information.’

On the train to Bristol, Lambert began searching for Campbell on The System. It wouldn’t have been much worse if he’d been called Smith. Stoddard didn’t know the man’s first name which made it near impossible. Lambert viewed the hundreds of hits which appeared on his screen and diverted his attention elsewhere.

The details of Roger Haydon’s suicide now appeared on HOLMES as an entry on Terrence Haydon’s murder. He’d managed to hang himself from a thick wooden beam in his spare room. The pathologist’s report stated he’d snapped his neck so his death had thankfully been quick.

At Bristol Temple Meads station, Lambert caught a taxi to Whitchurch. May had warned him not to approach Sandra Vernon’s house again, but she wasn’t answering her calls so he couldn’t ask her permission.

Sandra Vernon tried to shut the door on him but he managed to jam his left foot in between the door and frame. Her face contorted in rage. ‘I’ll call the police,’ she hissed. ‘They’ve told you not to come here any more.’

‘We need to talk,’ said Lambert.

‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’

‘This is about Roger.’

‘Then I still have nothing to say to you.’

Lambert couldn’t see any emotion for her ex-husband’s death. All he saw was anger, fear, and hatred in her eyes.

‘Miss Vernon, I need to talk to you about the counselling sessions your church used to run.’

Vernon stopped. Lambert knew his hunch, or at least part of it, had been a good one. ‘May I come in to talk?’

‘We can talk here.’

‘What can you tell me about those sessions, Miss Vernon?’

‘What sessions? The church has been running counselling sessions for twenty, thirty years. Many years before I joined the church. AA meetings, marriage guidance.’

‘This was something a little different. More delicate. I think Billy Nolan used to come to your church for counselling.’

‘Who?’

‘Please, Miss Vernon. Billy was killed by the same killer who killed your son.’

Vernon feigned surprise as if the connection had just occurred to her. ‘Oh him, yes well. What’s that got to do with the counselling sessions?’

‘As I said, I think he used to come here whilst he was at University.’

‘Perhaps. Unlikely. Why would he use the church? I wouldn’t know,’ she said, as if trying to convince herself.

‘Who used to run the sessions?’

‘My God, it was twenty years ago. We had all sorts of people. Volunteers. People from the church. Professionals from the council. I’m only a volunteer myself.’

‘Surely someone would have records from that time?’

Vernon folded her arms, pushing a line of flesh above the collar of her shirt.

‘I don’t know,’ she insisted. ‘I’m pretty sure we don’t keep records of those things even now, let alone then. It was all supposed to be anonymous.’

‘I can imagine. You would need to respect people’s privacy,’ said Lambert, trying to empathise with the woman. ‘But could you perhaps ask around for me? It is important. Obviously I’m going to let DI May know about our meeting as well.’

Vernon unfolded her arms.

‘There was one more thing, Miss Vernon. From what I understand, Billy attended these sessions with your son.’

‘No, impossible,’ said Vernon, shaking her head. ‘Well, I suppose Billy may have seen him there but Terrence never attended any meetings. He used to volunteer, setting up chairs, serving tea and coffee, that sort of thing. But he didn’t attend any meetings. He had no need.’

‘No, of course not.’

The woman’s voice rose in pitch. ‘I would know if he did. And anyway, why would he? He had no reason to.’

Lambert decided not to question her about what Roger Haydon had told him. The way Vernon had turned her back on him, the malicious rumours she’d started.

‘Okay, thank you for your time. In the meantime if you can think of anything, anyone else you think may have been at the meetings with Billy, will you let me know?’

‘I will let DI May know. Good day, Mr Lambert,’ said Vernon, slamming the door.

Sarah May called him back not long after, and they agreed to meet. He caught a taxi back into the city centre and was eating lunch in a small café by the riverside when she appeared. He’d been researching Sandra Vernon’s old church, which had been based in a small village outside Neath in South Wales. The place had disbanded nineteen years ago, not long after Vernon had left for Bristol.

‘You’re alive then?’ said Lambert, as she sat next to him.

‘Very much so, Michael. I’ve just had a lovely chat with Sandra Vernon.’

‘How is she?’

‘She’s devastated with the news about her husband. I did ask you not to speak to her again.’

‘Oh come on, Sarah. Something came up and you weren’t returning my calls. Let’s not play these games any more. I’m involved, and I want to help.’

May remained non-committal. ‘Why were you speaking to Sandra Vernon again?’

‘What did she tell you?’ asked Lambert.

‘Nothing that made coherent sense. Something about you ramming your foot in her door. Bringing up bad memories.’

‘Elements of truth in that,’ said Lambert. He shared his information about the counselling session Billy Nolan had attended.

May rubbed her eyes. ‘You should have come to me first with that,’ she said, almost whispering.

‘I tried,’ said Lambert.

‘Where did you get your information?’

‘I can’t disclose that. But Miss Vernon all but admitted it.’

‘You can’t disclose that?’ said May, incredulous.

‘Not at the moment.’ He wanted to protect Klatzky for as long as possible. If she knew he’d been talking to him, then she would demand he give the man up.

May exhaled, deciding not to pursue it any further. ‘So Vernon said Billy Nolan and her son used to go to counselling sessions at her church?’

‘Not exactly. Haydon was just a volunteer. Her memory was fuzzy, but I think it’s a promising lead. It links Nolan and Haydon,’ said Lambert, thinking that it also implicated Klatzky.

‘Well, thanks. I’ll get the team straight onto it.’

‘Tell me about the surgeon,’ said Lambert.

‘We’ve released him.’

‘How come?’

‘He was on call throughout the evening and early morning of Haydon’s murder. We’ve pretty much ruled him out.’

‘So what’s next?’ asked Lambert.

‘I’m liaising with Nielson. We will work the cases concurrently.’

‘So you’re not coming back to London?’ asked Lambert.

‘Not yet. Why, would you like me to?’ May ran her hand through her hair, holding his gaze. Lambert was again surprised by the hold the woman had started to have over him, especially considering their joint involvement in the case.

‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ he said.

She raised her eyebrows. ‘I’ll get onto the counselling sessions. I’ll ask Nielson to check on Sandra Hopkins’ past as well. If we can place her at any of the sessions we may have something to work on.’

Lambert changed the subject. ‘I was sorry to hear about Roger Haydon,’ he said.

‘I heard Nielson brought you in for questioning.’

‘It was more of an interrogation. You think it was a suicide?’

‘Nothing to indicate otherwise, though I would like to find out who Haydon spoke to before he died.’

‘Who do you think it was?’ asked Lambert.

May shrugged.

‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with Nielson’s desire to speak to Simon would it?’

‘Put yourself in our position, Michael. Would you want to speak to Klatzky?’

‘You’re being distracted.’

‘If that’s true, get him to hand himself in. The sooner we can eliminate him the better.’

‘Why didn’t you bring him in when he was in Bristol?’

May scrunched her face, a look of unease on her face. ‘We were going to. I had someone posted outside the hotel, then the Hopkins incident happened and everyone was needed back at the station.’

‘Oh dear. You have time for lunch?’

‘Twenty minutes.’

Lambert bought some sandwiches, and they moved outside. They sat side by side, looking out at the channelled path of the River Avon. Lambert felt the sun burning his skin as he lifted his arm to eat his sandwich. He wanted to share his theory with May that Klatzky was being set up, but that would bring with it too many complications. He stole the occasional glance at the woman, who sat facing the river enjoying the sunshine as if she was a tourist.

‘I met someone interesting yesterday,’ she said, not breaking her gaze away from the dirty brown water.

‘Oh yes?’

‘Another retired copper. Iain Hill.’

Lambert searched his memory for the name. ‘He led the team on the Clive Hale case?’

‘Yes, the first Souljacker killing. Hastings was his subordinate.’

‘I can’t imagine that old bastard being anyone’s subordinate. What did you want with him?’

‘Simply verifying my sources. Hastings’ recollection was not the greatest. Either that, or he’s not one of life’s sharers.’

‘That much is obvious. What did Hill tell you?’

‘It was what he didn’t tell me which is interesting. He reiterated what a good copper Hastings was, kept going on about him being a good leader.’