She pushed through the pain in her legs and increased her pace for the last mile. She liked to sprint the last few hundred metres home. She enjoyed the sensation of her body working at full throttle, everything pulling together, driving her forward. She reached the gates to her house and clicked her stopwatch. With her hands behind her head, she leant forward, her open mouth sucking air into her lungs.
‘Good time?’ asked her father as she opened the front door. He held a glass of red wine in one hand, the crossword section of the newspaper in the other.
‘It wasn’t a personal best,’ said May, her breathing returning to normal.
Her father went to reply. She could tell by the way he looked at her jacket that he was about to unleash some quip about the brightness of the material. He thought better of it, knowing her humour wasn’t at its highest at the end of a long run.
She read a few more chapters of Blood Kill before showering, and found herself relating more and more with the protagonist of the story. She sensed the man’s anguish as he searched for the killer of the blind girl and wondered if the real life Hastings would be similar to his fictional counterpart. Hastings had stipulated a meeting time of seven a.m. for tomorrow which had destroyed her plan of a good night’s sleep.
It was too late to cancel Lambert now. Anyway, she wanted to talk to him. He’d visited Sandra Vernon, and subsequently the minister of their small church, despite agreeing not to pursue his own investigation. She had to show him she should be taken seriously. What better way to do so than by going out for dinner with him, she thought ruefully.
She tried on a number of dresses before finding the perfect balance, a standard long-sleeve black dress which stretched below her knees. She scrubbed up well in the mirror but didn’t want Lambert to get the wrong idea.
She checked her email before leaving and was surprised to see an email titled:
Why did you ignore me?
At first she thought it was a joke but then she read the name of the sender, Sean Laws. She’d thought she’d imagined it, but it must have been him she’d seen on the way to the hospital. He hadn’t waved, so she hadn’t ignored him. She opened the email.
Hi Sarah, Only joking. I don’t know if you saw me but I spotted you out and about today. I’m in Bristol for a few days on work. I didn’t want to disrupt you. You looked so beautiful, walking along. It was really good to see you again. Maybe if you’ve time we could meet up for a chat?
He signed the email Sean with a solitary kiss and his phone number.
May slammed her laptop shut, her hands shaking. She had an absurd impulse to run down the stairs and tell her dad. Despite his age, she knew he would grab his coat and start scouring the city until he found Sean.
Sean Laws, the ex-boyfriend she’d once threatened to take to court.
Lambert spotted the car two minutes after leaving the hotel. A silver Mercedes, this year’s plates, too grandiose to be police. Through the blacked out windows, he made out the vague silhouetted figure of the driver. He made a mental note of the number plate and took the short walk up Park Street to the restaurant, stopping occasionally to see if the car had followed him.
Twenty minutes early, he took a seat and ordered a cold bottle of lager as he waited for Sarah May to arrive. He’d left Klatzky at the hotel bar holding court with the four students from this morning, his concerns about the photos temporarily washed away.
Sarah May arrived at exactly eight o’clock. Dressed in a figure-hugging black dress, she carried a small handbag. Her hair hung loose on her shoulders, and Lambert wished he’d made more of an effort with his own appearance. He rose from his seat and offered his hand. She shook it, ignoring his awkwardness, her manner half-professional, half-cordial.
After ordering drinks, Lambert questioned May about her career. She described a meteoritic rise through the ranks that, to some extent, mirrored Lambert’s progress. She talked about her colleagues and some of the issues she faced as a woman in the force.
It began to feel like a date until May dashed that notion during the main course.
‘Now, Michael,’ she said, her tone snapping from casual to business-like. ‘I believe I told you not to follow your own investigation.’
Lambert straightened up in his chair. ‘You’re talking about my meeting with Sandra Vernon?’
‘Yes.’
His eyes widened in mock surprise. ‘You’re not having me followed are you, DI May?’
May blinked, her mouth curling into the slightest of smiles. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have resources for such frivolous behaviour. But I thought if you were the interfering type, and I thought that perhaps you were, your first port of call would be with Miss Vernon.’
He couldn’t tell if she was playing with him or if her annoyance was genuine. ‘You spoke to her today?’ asked Lambert.
‘After you visited her house.’
Lambert drank long from his glass of red wine, enjoying May’s scrutiny. Clearly he was being tested. ‘I was paying my condolences.’
‘That’s right. And the questions about Haydon’s father?’
Lambert laughed. ‘I wanted to pay my condolences to him as well.’
May leant in. ‘We’ve spoken to Mr Haydon. There’s nothing much to be gained from him. From the report I was given, he’s just a sad, washed up alcoholic.’
‘It was only condolences,’ said Lambert.
May lowered her voice. ‘Because you and Haydon were so close? Look, I understand the experience you can bring to the case. I’d be happy to share information with you but you must understand the complications that arise from you being involved. You’ve really pissed off Miss Vernon. It could damage our investigations.’
Lambert lifted his glass again and placed it back down without taking a drink. He’d been waiting for May to speak her mind. How the next few minutes went could possibly define their relationship. ‘I do appreciate that,’ he said. There was little the DI could do about his involvement and she probably understood that as well as he did, but he didn’t want to upset her at this stage. ‘I’ll keep a low profile for the time being,’ he conceded.
‘Thank you,’ said May.
They sat in silence for a time, Lambert sneaking the odd glance at his companion. He thought about his former colleagues, how rarely he had enjoyed a strong professional relationship with someone. He held onto his wine glass, went to speak and stopped.
‘What did you think of Miss Vernon?’ asked May, choosing to rescue him from his inaction.
Lambert sat back, decided he would trust May for the time being. ‘I would say eccentric if I was being polite.’
‘And if you weren’t being polite?’
Lambert thought about the coldness he’d sense from the woman, the hatred she’d vocalised about her ex-husband. ‘I couldn’t possibly say. Did you speak to her about her Terrence’s father?’
‘Not in great detail.’
‘Her reaction was over the top to say the least. I think you need to dig deeper, there’s something she’s holding back.’
‘Okay. I’ll question her again. You think the father is involved?’
‘Not