Death Day (21 page)

    Lambert lit a cigarette and took a drag, finally expelling the smoke in a long stream. He sighed and turned to the blackboard. There were several names written on it in yellow chalk. He turned his back on the waiting men for a second, reading the names and breathing quietly. The knot of muscles at the side of his jaw pulsed. He felt like a schoolmaster. Finally, he turned.

    'Twelve people,' he said quietly, 'have disappeared in the last three days. We can't find a trace of one of them.' He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the blackboard. 'The pattern is the same in every case. All we ever find at the scene is a lot of blood, scraps of clothing if we're lucky, and other little clues. Never any sign of a body, even though all the indications are that there has been a violent struggle.'

    The Inspector took another drag on his cigarette, held the smoke in his mouth for a second then blew it out in a long stream. He pointed to the names at the top of the list.

    'Bob Shaw and Kelly Vincent. Reported missing by the girl's parents. We found blood in the hall, in the kitchen, on a knife. The blood matched the known groups of the two missing people. Except the blood on the knife. That belonged to a third party, I'll explain more about that at the end.' He pointed to the second name. 'Ralph Stennet. Attacked on his way across a field after leaving a pub. Reported missing by his wife.' Lambert scanned the faces of the watching men. 'Who found the evidence on this one?'

    Constable Ferman raised a tentative hand. Lambert nodded.

    Ferman coughed, coloured slightly and began. 'I visited the pub where Stennet was last seen and then followed a set of footprints which I thought to be his, across a field. I found blood.' He swallowed hard. 'Lots of it.'

    Lambert nodded, and pointed out the next on the list.

    'Janice Fielding. Attacked in her own back garden.' He exhaled deeply, finally turning his back on the blackboard. There's no point in going on. As I said before, it's the same in every case. The victims are attacked, from the evidence we found, badly assaulted, and then they disappear.' He looked from face to face. 'Any theories?'

    A muted silence greeted his enquiry.

    'Guv.' It was Hayes. 'You said something about the blood on the knife in the first case belonging to a third party. What do you mean?'

    Lambert almost smiled. 'What I'm going to tell you now will probably confirm some suspicions which a few of you have had ever since you've known me. Namely, that I'm a lunatic.' A ripple of laughter ran around the room. The Inspector paused, searching for the words. 'Well, maybe that's right. In this case I wish it was.' All the humour had left his voice, his tone now flat, clinical and the men in the room sensed it too.

    'The blood on that knife belonged to Peter Brooks.'

    There was a moment's stunned silence. Someone laughed, the sound choked off abruptly. No one knew what to say. Hayes found the words.

    'But, guv, Brooks is dead.'

    Lambert nodded almost imperceptibly and motioned towards Kirby.

    'Doctor Kirby,' he continued, 'who, you can see, suffered some injuries the other night, will verify the fact that it was Brooks' blood on the knife.'

    Kirby nodded and, as the men watched, he slowly began to unravel the bandage around his neck, finally revealing the scars and bruises beneath. The area around his adam's apple and below the ears was a patchwork of black and purple welts and angry scabs.

    'Jesus Christ,' murmured P.C. Briggs.

    'The doctor's attacker was Emma Reece, Mackenzie's third victim. Father Ridley, who was found hanging from the bell rope of his own church with both eyes torn out, was murdered by Ray Mackenzie.'

    The watching men were silent. They heard but could not, dare not, believe.

    'All the attacks which have taken place over the last three days,' said Lambert flatly, 'have been carried out by people who were thought to be dead.'

    
That was it.
As simple as that. Lecture finished. Lambert dropped his cigarette butt and ground it into the carpet. He exhaled slowly, as if the movement was painful.

    'I don't believe it,' said Constable Davies, flatly. 'It's impossible.'

    'It happened, man,' shouted Lambert. 'Look at the marks on his neck.' He pointed to Kirby, his temper now gone. 'They were put there by a woman who'd been buried three weeks before.' He gritted his teeth, his breath coming in short, rasping hisses.

    Davies lowered his voice a little, some of the cynicism draining from it. 'Where is she now?'

    'She's dead. I cut her head off with a spade.'

    Lambert raised a hand to his head and ran it through his hair. He exhaled deeply. 'These… things, whatever they are, they're strong.' He could say no more. Kirby stood up, seeing that the stress of the situation was beginning to affect Lambert.

    'The Inspector and I exhumed the body of Emma Reece; that was when the attack took place,' he said. The doctor smiled weakly at Lambert who nodded and began again.

    'At the moment we don't know how many of them there are. The fact that the corpses of each victim disappear would seem to indicate…' Hayes cut him short. 'But how can you be sure that these people have been killed if we've found no bodies?'

    'I'm assuming, Vic,' said Lambert, calmly. 'Assumptions are the only thing I've got at the moment. Assumptions and twelve missing people.' There was a long silence, then the Inspector continued, 'As I said, there's every reason to believe that the missing victims are now in the same condition as Mackenzie and Brooks.'

    'Does that mean they're alive, sir?' said P.C. Briggs.

    'I don't know what it means,' said Lambert. 'Alive, undead, living corpses.' He slammed his fist against the blackboard and growled, 'This case gets more insane the closer you look at it.'

    'Are you discounting the theory of body-snatching?' wondered Hayes.

    Lambert's reply was emphatic. 'Yes. After what happened with Emma Reece, there's no question of it having been that.'

    The men shuffled uncomfortably in their seats and an almost palpable silence began to fall over the room.

    'Any questions?' said Lambert.

    'Do we get any help on this, guv?' asked Hayes.

    Lambert shook his head.

    Hayes looked put out. 'But surely H.Q…' Lambert interrupted, 'And what the hell am I supposed to tell them? Please could I have some reinforcements here as we've got several living corpses walking around? They'd find me a nice cell with padded wallpaper.'

    A ripple of nervous laughter broke up the tension. It quickly vanished as Lambert continued. 'No. For the time being, it's up to us. Now, these things only seem to come out at night which gives us a bit of breathing space at least. I want full patrols tonight, no man walking a beat is to be alone. Radio in if you see anything suspicious. Don't go near one of them alone. Understand?'

    The men nodded. Lambert stood for a moment, trying to think if there was anything he'd left out. Finally deciding that there wasn't, he dismissed the men. As they filed out he heard young Briggs mutter to Walford, 'It's like something out of a horror film,' and he guffawed as he said it.

    'I wish it was,' Lambert called after him, then, softly, 'I wish to God it was a bloody film.' He turned to Kirby, 'There's always an expert in a horror film, isn't there? You know, some smart-assed bastard who knows how to deal with things like this.' He almost laughed.

    Kirby shook his head. 'Let's not get too paranoid about it, Tom.'

    Lambert looked at him for a second, then he headed for the door. When he reached it he turned. 'I'll stop being paranoid when all this is over.' He walked out, leaving Kirby sitting alone in the room gently rubbing the scars on his neck.

    

    

    Lambert drove home slowly that night, taking a route directly through the centre of Medworth, something which he usually avoided doing. He didn't know why, but the sight of people milling about the town centre reassured him. He drove in silence, not bothering to switch on the radio. He had enough on his mind as it was. The clock on the Capri dashboard showed five o'clock and the shops were beginning to close. Dusk hovered on the horizon, a portent of the darkness which would envelope the land in the coming hours. Lambert wondered what this particular night would bring with it. More deaths perhaps? He pushed the thought to one side and brought the car to a halt at a crossing. He tapped agitatedly on the wheel as the two women crossed, nodding affably to him. He lifted a weary hand in acknowledgement and drove on.

    A motorcycle passed him, the driver wearing no crash helmet. Ordinarily, the Inspector would have driven after the youth and maybe even cautioned him, but this particular evening he let the incident pass. He watched as the bike roared away out of sight.

    The drizzle which had blanketed the town for most of the day had finally given way to heavier rain and, as large spots of moisture began to splatter the windscreen, Lambert flicked on his wipers. The rubber arms swept away the rain, momentarily blurring his field of vision. By the time he reached home, it was pouring down. He locked the car door and bolted for the house, careful to remove his shoes when he got into the hall. He stood there for a moment then swiftly slid both bolts across, securing the door. Satisfied, he walked into the living room. The smell of cooking beef wafted out of the kitchen to greet him.

    'Jack the Ripper's home,' he called, reaching for the local paper.

    'Oh good, I thought it might be someone dangerous,' Debbie called from the kitchen.

    Lambert took off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, his eyes fixed to the column of newsprint beside the headline. The policeman sat down and scanned the small article headline POLICE BAFFLED OVER DISAPPEARANCES.

    'That bastard,' he snarled and threw the paper down.

    Debbie appeared in the doorway. 'What's wrong?' she asked.

    'Have you seen the local?' said Lambert, motioning to the discarded paper on the coffee table. 'That bastard Burton, I told him not to mention this in the paper. He's called me three times in the past week to ask what's going on. I said I'd issue a statement when the time was right.'

    Debbie picked up the paper and read the short - column which told of the disappearances of a number of people in Medworth. No names mentioned, though.

    'It doesn't seem to give too much away, Tom,' she said, placatingly.

    'That's not the point,' snapped Lambert. 'I told him. Nothing to be printed until I found out what was going on. It's bloody scare mongering, that's all it is. If people read this it won't make the investigation any easier.'

    'It'll get round by word of mouth,' said Debbie, returning to the kitchen. 'People are talking about it now.'

    'What people?' Lambert wanted to know.

    'Come on, Tom, it's a big talking point in the town. After all, it's the most exciting thing that's happened here for years.'

    'I'd hardly call five murders and twelve disappearances excitement, would you?' He sighed. 'Christ, if they knew the truth they'd shut up.'

    He flicked on the television and watched the news. The same old stuff. Strikes, Government upsets, the usual batch of robberies and murders. He picked up the local newspaper and read the column again, wondering if Detective Chief Inspector James Baron had seen it. If he had, it would be odds on he'd be on Lambert's back the following day wanting to know what was happening. The Inspector dropped the paper again. How the hell was he supposed to explain if Baron did call?

    Debbie's shout to tell him that dinner was on the table interrupted his chain of thought and he trudged out into the kitchen and sat down. He ate in silence for a time with Debbie watching him.

    'I had a lovely day, thank you dear,' she said, sarcastically. 'Oh did you, dear, fine.'

    Lambert looked up and smiled. 'Sorry.'

    'Welcome back to planet Earth,' said Debbie, softly.

    'I was thinking,' he said.

    'You always are.'

    'I mean, what do you call this? This state that Mackenzie and Brooks are in? How do you rationalize what Kirby and I saw the other night?'

    'You can't rationalize it, Tom. It happened, that's all there is to it.'

    'But, Mackenzie. I mean to say, it's not life after death in the sense we know it. It's living death. He's dead but he's walking around.' Lambert began to laugh, quietly at first and then more heartily. Debbie swallowed hard as she watched him. He smiled and shook his head, the spasm subsiding.

    'I think I'm going insane,' he said, looking at her. 'None of this can be happening. Things like this only happen in bad horror films.' His tone darkened once more. 'And yet I saw Emma Reece get up out of that coffin. I saw her attack Kirby, I felt her strength. I saw that, Debbie. My eyes saw something which my mind can't accept. I saw a dead man walk.' He pushed his plate away from him and rested his head on his hands which he had clasped before him.

    'Do you think I'm insane?' he asked.

    She shook her head.

    'What's happening now, it goes against everything I've ever believed in. Right from the start of your training, they teach you to keep an open mind about things. Never make hasty decisions. Always weigh up all the evidence before making your judgement.' He smiled humourlessly. 'The trouble is, I've made up my mind. All the evidence points to something which, by all the laws of nature, is impossible. The dead are coming back to life.' He paused. 'All those who are victims, in turn, become living dead themselves. Even Brooks, Mackenzie killed him in the fall.'

    'But what about the first two victims,' asked Debbie, 'and Father Ridley?'