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  Lambert eased his struggle. Saliva dripped from his mouth as his body cramped. ‘Don’t mention her,’ he said, through gritted teeth.

  Hastings left the room, leaving the door open. Lambert called over to May. ‘Any use?’ he asked, his mind still reeling from what Hastings had said.

  Sarah May jiggled her left leg. ‘It’s coming loose slowly,’ she said, her voice a whisper. ‘Not that it will make any difference.’

  ‘Keep working.’

  Lambert shivered as the adrenalin in his body faded. He tried not to think about where Hastings had gone, but was unable to blank out his imagination. He pictured Hastings gathering his surgical set, the pontifical incense, and the anaesthetic. In his thoughts, Hastings smiled in anticipation of a new kill. A wave of nausea hit Lambert. He tried to vomit, his throat contracting as he dry heaved, his stomach empty.

  Hastings returned with a small wooden table which he placed next to Lambert. He left the room once more to retrieve two hand guns which he placed side by side on the table. Lambert noticed one of the guns was his Glock.

  ‘Okay, the end is near,’ said Hastings. ‘Let me explain what is going to happen.’ He picked up one of the guns and held it in front of Lambert.

  Lambert breathed deeply, tried to ease his raging heartbeat.

  ‘I’m giving you one chance, and one chance only, to save your soul, Mr Lambert. You failed to save your daughter, little Chloe, and now I am going to give you the chance to redeem yourself.’

  Hastings turned his palms face up, his arms held out wide waiting for a response.

  Lambert’s chest was bursting with pressure. ‘Just tell us, you sick fuck.’

  ‘I will be giving you the opportunity to save Sarah May’s life,’ said Hastings, who walked over and sat down in the chair opposite Sarah May. He unclicked the safety and lifted the gun so it pointed squarely at May’s forehead.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Lambert. ‘It was me you were going to save,’ said Lambert.

  May closed her eyes, peaceful, save for the tremor in her chest. Lambert hoped she was lost somewhere in her thoughts, a fond memory taking her away from the stark reality.

  ‘My life’s work is over,’ said Hastings, lowering the gun. ‘I need a fitting end. A conclusion worthy to what I’ve achieved. A twelfth soul worth saving. Sarah May isn’t part of my plans. Only you are, Michael.’

  May opened her eyes. At first relieved that Hastings had lowered the gun, her face contorted into anger. If she hadn’t been tied up at the moment, she would have torn Hastings to pieces with her bare hands.

  ‘So fucking end it,’ said Lambert.

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Hastings, getting to his feet. ‘In a couple of minutes, Michael, I am going to untie you. I will leave the second gun where it is, on the table before you. As you can see, the gun is yours. I retrieved it from you after your accident. The magazine has one bullet left. After untying you, I will count to ten. If I finish counting to ten, then I will shoot Sarah May.’

  Lambert fought against his ties, exchanged a look with Sarah. ‘What’s the catch?’

  ‘No catch, but the shot needs to be a clean kill. If I am still alive then I will shoot the young detective here.’

  ‘You expect me to believe that you’re going to let me kill you?’

  ‘Why not? I’m finished and gratefully so. I have already written the ending. Can you imagine it, the perfect way to save my twelfth soul. Giving you redemption for killing your daughter.’

  Lambert ignored the mention of Chloe. It sounded too good to be true. ‘The gun’s loaded?’

  ‘One bullet in the magazine. I warn you, it needs to be a clean kill.’

  In Lambert’s peripheral vision, May was still struggling with the loose rope on her leg. He couldn’t see if she was succeeding.

  ‘So do we have a deal, Mr Lambert?’

  Lambert shrugged. ‘I’m hardly in a position to negotiate.’

  ‘Wonderful. I’ll be back shortly.’

  Lambert watched, horrified, as a man who had never previously betrayed any sense of emotion practically skipped out of the room.

  ‘Do you think he means it?’ said May.

  Lambert didn’t want to get too hopeful. ‘It’s possible. Also possible that he is toying with us. He could do this with all his victims for all we know.’

  ‘If we ever get out of this, I think we need to get you to work on your motivational skills,’ said May. ‘Do you think you’ll be able to do it?’

  ‘What, shoot him? Are you kidding? Nothing would give me more pleasure.’

  ‘I mean with your arms having been tied up for so long. They are going to be incredibly stiff.’

  Lambert clenched his fists, tensed and released his arm muscles. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’d like to keep him alive so we can question him, but I’ll make sure he goes down. What about your leg?’

  ‘The rope is looser. I think I might be able to free it. I can’t move anything else, though.’

  ‘Keep trying, just in case.’

  Hastings kept them waiting. Lambert took in the scene, tried to concentrate on what was to come. Sarah May was less than six metres away. Under normal circumstances, the shot would be easy. It was his gun, he’d practised with it on numerous occasions in various secluded woodland areas. He considered the variables in his current situation, concluding that the physical constraints were the least of his problems. He would have to turn his left shoulder to face Hastings. His legs would probably remain tied, but there would be enough freedom of movement to make the turn. His left leg still ached, and the remnants of whatever Hastings had drugged him with still travelled his system, but he would hold the gun steady enough to get off one shot. If there was an issue, it would be the psychological issue of knowing that if he missed he would be condemning Sarah May to death.

  As if reading his mind, May said, ‘whatever that bastard says, you know it wasn’t your fault that Chloe died, and you have nothing to redeem yourself for. You do know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I’ll probably still shoot him anyway,’ he said.

  May laughed, and Lambert thought it was probably the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. ‘Oh, good,’ she said.

  Another hour passed before Hastings returned. He’d kept the light on, the glow from the naked bulb so bright that Lambert was forced to keep his eyes shut. He managed to keep his arms moving as much as possible. He clenched his fists, tensing his biceps and chest muscles so that the shock of freedom, should it occur, would be manageable.

  Hastings didn’t talk, his demeanour more like the dour, humourless man Lambert had always known. He picked up Lambert’s gun and unclipped the magazine. He checked it and clicked it back in place. In the glare of the standing lamp, Lambert noticed the mass of wrinkles on Hastings’ face, a network of minuscule incisions on his leather-like skin.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Hastings, his voice a rasping growl.

  During Hastings’ absence, Lambert had deliberated as to how Hastings’ little game would work.

  A split second later he found out.

  Chapter 55

  It lasted longer than ten seconds.

  The first impact came out of nowhere, Hastings’ fist landing on Lambert’s chin snapping his head back. Lambert twisted his head, a line of saliva coated in blood flying across the room. Hastings hit him again, three more times, once across each temple and a third in his mouth shattering a number of teeth until Lambert’s head hung low on his chest. With no way to defend himself, the blows caused maximum damage. In his dizzied state, Lambert presumed Hastings had changed his mind. Supporting this new theory, Hastings punched him hard in the stomach. Again the blow was unexpected, Lambert not having time to offer even the merest resistance of clenching his stomach muscles. Lambert tried to breathe, a faint whistling sound escaping from his mouth. His chest muscles tightened and for a time and he feared he was going into cardiac arrest.

  From somewhere in the room, he heard the distance voice of Sarah May, protestin
g at Hastings’ actions. As his breath returned, he noticed his left hand was free. He made a feeble attempt to lift it and suffered another punch, this time to his throat.

  The blow must have knocked him out, his body shocking itself back into consciousness as if waking from a nightmare. His eyes snapped open and took in everything. The brightly lit room. The sight of Sarah May tied to the chair, a gag rammed into her mouth. Hastings sitting in the chair opposite, his gun pointed directly at May’s forehead.

  Lambert noticed his hands were free, his Glock 22 within reach on the table before him.

  ‘Ten seconds,’ said Hastings.

  Lambert tried not to hesitate. He watched his hand reach for the gun as if in slow motion. It reminded him of the dreams which at times had plagued his childhood, the nightmares where he’d tried to run from unknown assailants only for his legs to move as if stuck in treacle. The gun felt heavier than he remembered, a lead weight pulsating in his shaking hand. He thought he heard Hastings reach seven but couldn’t be sure. His head throbbed, his throat constricted as if filled with a foreign object.

  Lambert swivelled his body to face Hastings. He focused on the man, disturbed to see that Hastings’ hand was shaking. His gun waved in front of Sarah May’s face, who stared ahead dead eyed.

  Lambert took aim. He tensed his arm to stop it shaking and aimed for Hastings’ forehead.

  Lambert closed his right eye and squeezed the trigger.

  Later, he would have sworn that he saw the bullet leave his gun.

  As Lambert went to squeeze the trigger, Hastings leant into May deciding his chosen finale was not for him. As he did so, May’s left leg struggled free. She managed to dart her leg out just in time to kick Hastings backwards.

  The bullet entered Hastings’ neck. Lambert fired his gun again but Hastings had been telling the truth about the solitary bullet. Using his hands for leverage, Lambert swayed on the spot and managed to topple the chair. He landed on his hands, the impact almost breaking his wrists. He dragged his body across the floor to Hastings.

  The strength had left Hastings. The gun by his side, his hands reached for his neck where a stream of blood flowed in thick gushes. Lambert didn’t have time to say anything before Hastings closed his eyes for a final time.

  Epilogue

  They shook hands. It was an awkward exchange. It had been two months since they’d last seen each other.

  ‘This is silly,’ said May. ‘Come here.’ She kissed him on the cheek, wrapped her arms tight around him.

  Lambert savoured the touch of her skin against his, the now familiar smell of vanilla on her skin. ‘So you have it?’

  ‘All here,’ said May, waving the document in front of her.

  They had successfully delayed publication of Hastings’ book. An emergency hearing had upheld their argument that the book contained information sensitive to further investigations. This hadn’t stopped thousands of people placing advanced orders online.

  It hadn’t stopped Hastings reaching out.

  The day after his death, Hastings’ book went viral online. It happened so fast, that it became impossible to take it down. It had appeared on Hastings’ website first. Looking through older posts, he’d promised an online exclusive days before. A free download of his next, non-fiction title.

  It only took a couple of downloads and soon it was national news. It was his life story and more. Lambert had since trawled through every word, countless times. It listed every Souljacker killing, plus the killings of Samuel Burnham, Kwasi Olumide, Lance Crosby, as well as a number of other murders which were currently under investigation. Hastings revealed that Campbell had paid Roger Haydon a visit on the day he’d committed suicide. He’d given him an ultimatum, his life or Thomas Langtree’s. Haydon had made the ultimate sacrifice, and for Hastings it had merely been a diversionary tactic.

  The latter chapters had been hastily put together. Thanks to these chapters, Lambert had become somewhat of a celebrity. Hastings had predicted the ending with an unnerving accuracy, though in his version things went much smoother. Lambert killed him with one bullet to the forehead. An instant kill, not the slower death he eventually endured.

  The book was low on explanation. Hastings repeated what he’d told May and Lambert: that the first killer, and second Souljacker victim, Graham Jackett, had been sent as a guide. That his goal had been to save the soul of each victim whose eyes he’d removed.

  Lambert spent the subsequent weeks researching Hastings’ background. Both his parents had died years before. His mother had fallen down a flight of stairs when Hastings was twenty, his father a victim of hit and run when he was seventeen. Lambert tracked down some of Hastings’ ex-school friends. He had been an awkward teenager, intelligent, but somewhat of a loner. There had been rumours of something odd occurring in the Hastings household, but nothing of significance had ever come to light.

  Lambert’s theory was that something had happened to Hastings when he was twelve which had changed the boy forever. Unfortunately, it was unlikely he would ever know.

  They walked together across College Green, their hands by their sides never quite touching. He wanted to tell her he missed her, that it was possible they could be together.

  ‘How’s Sophie?’ asked May.

  ‘Large, grumpy.’ He hesitated. ‘I shouldn’t say that really, should I?’

  May’s face crumpled into a smile. ‘We can keep it between us. Is she working it out with whatshisname?’

  ‘Taylor? No. I don’t want to go into the sordid details but from what she’s told me it was a fling. He’s going to do the right thing financially, and he says he’ll be there for the kid. So we’ll see.’

  The publisher’s office was on the third floor of a large Victorian building. May buzzed up. ‘DCI May and Michael Lambert to see Angela Sutton.’

  ‘Please use the lift. Fifth floor,’ replied a muffled voice on the other end of the line.

  ‘DCI, huh?’ said Lambert in the lift.

  ‘You know it, buster.’

  They had seen each other during the months following Hastings’ death. It was strange that something so horrific could bring them together. Lambert rented a place in Bristol, but had spent nearly every evening at May’s. It had been too much, too soon. Lambert told her he would return to London. That they could try again sometime in the future.

  ‘DCI May, Mr Lambert,’ said Angela Sutton, greeting them outside the lift. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’

  May in particular had spent time with the woman in the past few months. She was immaculately dressed, in a figure-hugging black skirt and cream blouse. Her face was heavily made up, and reminded Lambert of the women he occasionally saw at the make-up counters at Boots. What are you hiding, he thought.

  May showed her the warrant. ‘You could make it easy on us and you, by giving me the document.’

  Sutton read the warrant, as if examining an ancient artefact in a long-extinguished language. She sighed. ‘If you wait here, I can print up a copy.’

  ‘Make that two copies, and we will need all electronic versions,’ said May.

  ‘It won’t stop it getting out, you know that?’ said Lambert, once Sutton had gone.

  ‘I know but at least we can make a head start on things.’

  May interlocked her hands and gazed at her shoes. ‘So, is there anything keeping you in London?’ she asked, eventually, not looking up.

  ‘Tillman has asked me to return,’ said Lambert.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I’m considering my options. Sophie’s pregnancy has thrown me a bit.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s strange, a child growing inside her. You know, after Chloe and everything.’

  ‘You don’t have to explain, Mike.’

  ‘But I do. We’re not getting back together, it’s just that I feel I should be there for her. She has this whole future ahead of her. Chloe would have been her sister. Oh, I didn’t tell you, she’s expecting a girl.’


  May placed her hand on his.

  ‘Anyway, this girl will be linked to Chloe forever, and Sophie will be linked to them both. But me, well…’

  Angela Sutton returned with two documents, neatly tied in a blue ribbon. She handed them to May along with a memory stick. ‘This is everything,’ she said.

  ‘Do you know if he planned any surprise online launch?’ asked Lambert.

  ‘You’ve closed his website down.’

  ‘So? If you know anything, Angela, you need to let us know,’ said May. Lambert could tell she was going through the motions. There was no way the woman would share any information with her.

  Lambert bought them drinks from the same coffee shop where they’d first met months ago. They walked to the green and sat on the lawn, reading the documents as if they were no different to the idling students who congregated in the area.

  Hastings’ book had concluded with a preview of a follow up. Lambert flicked through the pages, staggered by what he was reading, a list of missing people Hastings had claimed to have killed in the period since Billy Nolan’s death.

  ‘This can’t be true, can it?’ asked May.

  Lambert thought about what Hastings had said to him about the unmarked graves. ‘Nothing would surprise me now,’ he said, frowning.

  May stood, the hem of her dress tinged with smudges of grass. ‘I need to get this back to the station.’

  Lambert wanted to say so much but didn’t know where to begin.

  May pulled out something from her bag and dropped it onto his chest with a wink.

  Lambert watched her walk away. He took the set of keys from his chest and placed them in his pocket.

  CARINA™

  ISBN: 978 1 474 04503 2

  Dead Eyed

  Copyright © 2015 Matt Brolly

  Published in Great Britain (2015)

  by Carina, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

  All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.