The sound of the shotgun reverberated in the small confines of the room. The bullet travelled through the top of Campbell’s head, tearing a hole in the roof, decorating the room with blood and matter.
Lambert froze on the spot, the sound of the gun still ringing in his ears. The sight of Campbell was enough to test the hardest of constitutions. Campbell’s head simply no longer existed. It had been blown into a thousand tiny fragments. In its place, the stump of his neck vomited blood like a volcano leaking the occasional burst of lava.
Lambert realised he’d been holding his breath. He exhaled, falling to his knees. He took shallow breaths, told himself he had to continue. He checked the man’s sodden clothing for any clue of Sarah May’s location. His pockets were empty, as were the pockets of the man he’d called Lance.
He couldn’t call it in yet, not with the gun on him. He made a frantic search of the house using a set of fragile aluminium step ladders to reach the attic. He covered every inch of the house then returned to his car and drove twenty miles to a hotel he’d passed on the journey there. He booked a room using a set of false ID he carried. Once in the room, he placed his gun and holster in the room’s safe. He showered and changed into a set of fresh clothes and cancelled the delayed email he’d prepared for Tillman. Ten minutes later, he returned to the car and drove back towards the crime scene and called Bardsley.
‘I think I’ve found Campbell,’ he said.
It wasn’t long before Campbell’s house was alive with activity. A line of police cars snaked down the narrow lane which led to the house. The crime scene was cordoned off as the SOCOs arrived.
Lambert waited outside as Bardsley supervised the crime scene officers.
‘This is foolhardy, even for you,’ said Bardsley when he returned. His former colleague was more animated than Lambert could remember, the thick tendons of his neck springing to attention. ‘What the hell were you thinking? You could have been killed.’
‘It was only a hunch, I didn’t want to bother you,’ said Lambert.
Bardsley eye’s opened wide to comical effect. ‘You didn’t want to bother me?’ he said, mimicking Lambert’s tone.
‘I had a tip from an informant. If I came to you every time I had a thought we’d never be off the phone to one other.’
‘Let me get this straight. You had a tip that this is where Campbell lives, Campbell being the only link we have between two mass murderers, and you thought you’d come alone with absolutely no backup. What were you expecting to find?’
‘I was hoping to find Sarah,’ said Lambert.
‘You’re lucky to be alive,’ he repeated.
Lambert shrugged his shoulders.
‘Fuck me. Why didn’t Campbell shoot you?’
‘Would that have made you happier?’ said Lambert.
‘Jesus Christ, Mike. I should arrest you, you know. Nielson warned you not to interfere. He’s on his way over, by the way.’
‘If I hadn’t interfered, Josh, we’d never have found his body. Have you had any luck identifying either of them?’
‘No. No forms of ID in the house as of yet. We’ve taken some photos of their faces but we don’t hold many snapshots of people with their eyes and mouth sealed shut, or their faces obliterated by a shotgun.’
‘I don’t think Campbell is the killer,’ said Lambert.
Bardsley paused. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘He was scared. I asked about Sarah May and he acted confused, and as you said, why didn’t he shoot me and escape? He was resigned, as if he’d had enough. As if he was scared.’
‘You came here unarmed?’ asked Bardsley.
‘Of course. May’s not here, and time’s running out, Josh.’
Bardsley sighed. ‘Don’t leave,’ he said, moving to a group of officers who’d returned from the woodland to the side of the house.
DCI Nielson appeared, a number of colleagues in tow. The man glared at Lambert as if he was to blame for the atrocities he’d discovered in the house.
Lambert refused to speak to him. Bardsley took an official statement. ‘You’re the only one who’s seen Campbell’s face,’ he said.
‘You want me to scan the database?’ asked Lambert.
‘It would be helpful. Get to the station and we can get to work. We have a facial recognition expert.’
‘Fancy.’
Bardsley let him leave four hours later. Nielson had insisted that his car was checked over before leaving, Lambert relieved to have taken the gun back to the hotel.
Lambert’s vision began to blur as he drove the short distance to the hotel. He reached the place in time and collapsed asleep on the bed seconds after checking the safe for the weapon. He slept for three hours, his dreams peppered with images of Billy Nolan and Terrence Haydon, eyes missing, vague inscriptions on their bodies. The victim from earlier that evening, hanging from the rafters, his mouth sealed shut locked in an internal scream and Campbell, taking the shotgun to his mouth, a flicker of fear in his eyes.