'Finished?' asked the policeman, indicating the corpse.
'I was just about to start,' said Kirby rolling up his sleeves. He crossed to a closet and pulled out a plastic apron which he quickly put on. 'I can tell you without a post mortem that this woman was killed by the same person who killed that little girl and her mother.'
Lambert looked puzzled. 'How, for Christ's sake?'
Kirby pulled back the sheet and Lambert felt his guts turn a somersault.
Emma Reece's eyes had been torn out.
'Jesus,' gasped Lambert, stepping back, unable to look any longer at the mutilated sockets. 'You're sure it's the same killer?'
'The scratches around the cheeks and nose are identical to those on the first two victims. There's no doubt about it. Mackenzie's marks are all over the body.'
The doctor stood beside the corpse, looking at Lambert, whose own gaze was riveted to the deep, savage gashes in the woman's neck.
'How was it done?' he asked.
'He strangled her with barbed wire,' said Kirby flatly.
Lambert pushed past the doctor and pulled the sheet back over the body. 'Forget the autopsy,' he said.
'Are you sure? I mean it's standard procedure…'
'Fuck standard procedure,' snarled Lambert, loudly. He bowed his head and leant back against the table. When he spoke again his tone was more subdued, weary even. 'What's the motive, John?'
'You're the policeman,' said Kirby smiling.
Lambert grinned weakly and nodded. 'No motive. The bastard hasn't even left us a motive.' The inspector walked past Kirby. 'I'll be in the office if you want me,' he said and left.
Kirby took off his apron and hung it up again. He looked at the corpse beneath the sheeting for a second then he crossed to his bench and began writing his own report.
Lambert had a pad before him on the desk and, on it, he was trying to make a list, but the words wouldn't go down in coherent order. He read back what he had:
He circled 'No motive' and got wearily to his feet. The wall clock said six-twenty A.M. Lambert yawned and rubbed his eyes. Debbie would be up by now, she'd have read his note. He wasn't sure what her reaction to it would be. Not that it really mattered.
He thought of Mike.
Should he visit the cemetery today? He sat down on the edge of his desk, reaching for the pad. He reread his notes. Notes. That was a laugh. What bloody notes? A page full of maybes and whys. He read it once more.
The words stuck out like compound fracture.
But they carried with them a resonance which Lambert found all the more disturbing. If there had been no motive for the three killings, then Mackenzie could strike anywhere and at anytime. Christ alone knew who was going to be next. The wife and daughter, perhaps he could understand. Maybe Mackenzie had come home in a drunken rage and killed them both in a fit of temper. But Emma Reece…
And the eyes. Why take the eyes? Was there some significance in that particular mutilation?
Lambert threw the pad across the room in a fit of impotent annoyance. They had to catch Mackenzie, and fast.
He tried to imagine what Gordon Reece must have felt like, finding his wife like that. The poor bastard was imder sedation at home. The funeral was tomorrow and he had refused to speak to any policemen until after it was over. Lambert had learned that it was to have been the Reeces' silver wedding anniversary the following day. There was nothing to celebrate now. The family were united to see Emma Reece buried, instead of to celebrate a union which had lasted twenty-five years. Lambert suddenly felt very angry. He wondered how he was going to be able to face Gordon Reece on that coming Sunday. Still, he'd learn to live with it. Everybody had to sooner or later.
Lambert thought about Mike again. Should he visit the cemetery?
He could fight the urge no longer. Telling Hayes where he could be reached, he hurried out of the police station and, climbing into the Capri, headed for Two Meadows.
As he drove, he wondered how much longer it would be before the memory faded.
He wondered, in fact, if that day would ever come.
Debbie heard the car door slam in the driveway, followed a second later by footsteps heading for the back door. She turned expectantly towards it as Lambert entered.
He smiled tiredly at her.
'You look wrecked,' she said, quietly.
'That is the understatement of the year,' he said, kissing her gently on the forehead. He walked into the sitting room and got himself a drink. 'Want one?' he called.
She asked him for a vodka and he poured it. His own tumbler full, he drained it quickly, then poured another before returning to the kitchen where he sat at the table.
'You got my message this morning?' he asked.
She nodded, sipping her drink.
Lambert exhaled deeply and took a large swallow of scotch.
'Was it another murder?' she asked.
'Yes. A woman in her fifties.'
'What was her name?'
He smiled at her, 'That's supposed to be police business.' There was a moment's silence then he said: 'Emma Reece.'
'Oh my God,' said Debbie, putting down her drink. 'I knew her. And her husband. She was a regular at the library. When did it happen?'
'Last night. She was out walking the dog and…' he drew an index finger across his throat in a cutting motion.
'Was it the same one who killed the Mackenzies?' she wanted to know.
'Yes.' He would say no more.
'What about Mr Reece?'
'He's sedated, apparently. The funeral's tomorrow. I've got to talk to the poor bastard on Sunday.' He finished his drink. 'You know I can understand how he feels. It's like being punched in the guts when something like that happens to someone close, like having all the wind knocked out of you.'
'You went to the cemetery again today.' It came out more as a statement than a question.
He nodded, prodding his food with his fork as she laid it before him. She too sat and they ate in silence. After a while, she looked across at him.
'Want to talk about it?' she said, smiling. 'About what?'
'Anything, I'm game.'
They both laughed.
'I'm sorry, love,' said Lambert, 'it's just that, well, this whole business worries me. I feel so fucking helpless. Do you know that in all the police records of this town there's never been one murder, one rape or one mugging? And now, in the space of three days, I've got three corpses on my hands.'
'You make it sound as if it's your fault.'
He shook his head. 'That's not what I mean. I wanted to get back to work, you know that. But not under these circumstances. Christ, three bloody murders. I didn't think things like that happened in Medworth.' He fetched them both another drink and sat down again, pushing away the remains of his meal.
He looked up to see her eyes on him, something twinkling behind them, the beginnings of a smile on her lips.
'What's up?' he said, also smiling.
