Dead Eyed by Matt Brolly Page A

ETA. ‘You better have something ready for him, or the noise is going to attract attention.’
    Lance manoeuvred the van down a side street, and up the gravel drive of what appeared to be a deserted house. The garage doors had been left open and he parked inside. The doors slid shut as he switched off the engine, flooding the interior in darkness. The injured man began screaming again.
    A side door opened, and two men entered the garage. Lance left the van. Together they opened the back door and, with the help of Lance’s colleague, hoisted the injured man out of the van. The screams reverberated around the hollow confines of the garage.
    ‘Don’t worry, mate, we’ve something for you inside. Hold on for a couple more minutes,’ said one of the men.
    Lance left the key in the ignition and followed the men into the interior of the house. They carried the injured man into a large open space, the partitions to all the downstairs rooms having been knocked out to create the area. They placed the body on the uncarpeted floor. One of the men produced a syringe from a cloth bag, and filled it with a clear liquid. ‘This will see you good,’ he said, spearing the injured man’s upper thigh.
    The man stooped struggling. For a second Lance thought he was dead. Then he saw his chest move, taking in shallow breaths.
    Four conscious men, one unconscious. No one knew anyone’s name. It was the way Campbell wanted it. The less you knew, the less you could talk.
    ‘You’re the driver,’ said the man Lance had spoken to on the phone.
    Lance nodded.
    ‘New instructions. Leave the van here.’ He gave Lance a set of keys, and a piece of paper with an address on it. ‘It’s on the main road. You can go through the front door.’
    Lance left the building alone.

Chapter 13
    Although the remark had been flippant, it was conceivable that one of May’s colleagues had monitored him leaving the hotel and relayed the information to their superior.
    ‘How can you ask me that, Michael, after last night?’ replied May, a mischievous lilt to her voice. ‘Actually, I was wondering if you could pop into the office when you are free. We have someone here you might wish to speak to.’ She refused to divulge any more details.
    Lambert pulled over and checked his rear-view mirror. It didn’t seem as if anyone was following him. Deciding to postpone his visit to Haydon’s father until later, he drove the short distance to Sarah May’s police station. He parked the car and walked into the station. They had moved the incident room from the newer police headquarters in Portishead, to the central station on Bridewell Street.
    ‘Michael Lambert to see DI May,’ he said, to the duty sergeant.
    The duty sergeant studied him as if verifying he was actually there. ‘You’re Michael Lambert?’ he said, as if something about his appearance made this unlikely.
    ‘I’m here at her request,’ he said, his tone dropping an octave as he locked onto the sergeant’s gaze.
    The sergeant scratched a line of hair which fell from his chin. ‘Inspector May’s expecting you?’ he asked, as if Lambert had yet to speak.
    Lambert pinched his nose, blinked his eyes. ‘Do you need to see some identification, Sergeant? Pick up the phone and speak to her. She called me ten minutes ago.’ Up close, he could smell the fetid breath of the man who had probably been at the desk all night. He could excuse the coldness in the man’s tone, it was his station and Lambert was an outsider, but drew a line at disrespect.
    The sergeant scratched his chin again, his eyes not leaving Lambert’s, as if he was too tired to turn his face away. Lambert was about to reach over and strike the man into action when a door to Lambert’s left buzzed open. ‘Second floor.’
    May stood at the top of the stairs, waiting. ‘Michael, how are you?’ she asked, immaculate in a sharp grey suit.
    ‘So what’s the great mystery?’ he asked, though he had a good idea why she’d