Dead Eyed by Matt Brolly Page B

asked to see him.
    ‘Come on through.’
    The open-plan office was alive with sleep-starved officers already busy on their phones, punching keys on their computers. ‘What’s going on in here?’
    May rubbed her eyes. ‘There was a bit of fun last night on the Frenton Estate. Three men were involved in a fight.’
    ‘And that’s unusual?’
    ‘Obviously not. We arrested one of the men, had to take him to hospital with a broken leg and wrist.’
    The sound of the man’s leg snapping echoed again in Lambert’s head. He couldn’t feel any remorse for what he’d done. He’d been under attack, and in many ways the two men had escaped lightly. After joining The Group, Tillman had insisted that Lambert undergo extensive special operations training. He’d spent three months in the UK, followed by a ten-week course in the States. He’d been trained to use extreme force when under attack and in many ways he’d held back last night. Lambert shrugged. ‘And?’
    ‘Only he escaped from the hospital this morning.’
    ‘I see,’ said Lambert. The incident explained the frantic scenes in the office, and the tired looks on May’s colleagues. Lambert imagined there hadn’t been much security at the hospital. It suggested that there were more than two of them involved, as it was unlikely that the Mediterranean-looking man had helped the injured man escape alone. ‘Was he under arrest at the time?’
    ‘We were waiting to question him.’
    ‘Could be worse,’ said Lambert.
    ‘It’s the last thing I need at the moment, though,’ said May.
    A sea of faces watched Lambert as he followed May into the open-plan office. He recognised the unwelcoming glare of police officers when a stranger entered their home turf all too well. The eyes analysed him, reached conclusions. Lambert had been a suspect on the original Souljacker case and here he was again. Most of the office would know about his past and possibly considered him a suspect now. He would have thought that being one of them, albeit on a leave of absence, would give him some dispensation. At the moment, he couldn’t tell.
    A straight-backed man, in his early sixties stood and greeted him. ‘Michael Lambert,’ he said, his face not betraying any sense of emotion.
    ‘I thought it might be you, sir,’ said Lambert, shaking hands with the retired Chief Superintendent, Julian Hastings. Lambert hadn’t seen the man in over ten years. Time had softened him a bit. His stomach carried more weight and his face was rounder than before, but his eyes had retained their sharp quality.
    ‘Inspector May here wanted a quick chat with me about this new incident. She mentioned you were back in town.’
    ‘Yes, visiting old haunts.’
    ‘Take a seat,’ said May. Three other officers sat around the table with Hastings but no further introductions were made.
    May stood at the head of the table. An incident board hung on the wall behind her decorated with pictures of the ten Souljacker victims, before and after their attacks. Various lines had been added onto the board linking the photos with other images at the periphery of the board: former victims, family members, friends, colleagues, and potential suspects. Lambert had studied an almost replica version of the board on The System back at his hotel. He’d analysed each link and knew the past histories of everyone involved.
    ‘Chief Superintendent Hastings has been helping us fill in some missing gaps on the previous Souljacker murders,’ said May.
    Lambert noted the predominantly male workforce. ‘What have you learnt?’ asked Lambert.
    ‘Not much I’m afraid, Michael,’ said Hastings. His voice was an octave lower than the last time they’d met, now a gravelly tenor. ‘These guys are pretty thorough.’
    ‘You’re being modest there, sir,’ said May. ‘But we thought you may be able to add to what Chief Superintendent Hastings has told us, Mr Lambert.’ The sociable, even flirtatious May he’d dined with the