'Bring all the papers relating to the previous victims, and those on Ridley. And the autopsy reports on Mackenzie and Brooks.'
'Sure, but…'
Lambert cut him short, his voice edged slightly with worried impatience. 'Just do it, John.'
They said their goodbyes and Lambert dropped the phone back onto its cradle. Debbie looked at him and he returned her gaze, their eyes locked together. He sat down beside her and reached for his tea. He took a mouthful and winced. It was stone cold. He put the cup down and crossed to the drink cabinet.
Right now he needed something stronger.
It was a minute before seven that evening when there was a sharp rapping on the front door of the Lambert household. The Inspector checked his watch as he crossed to the door. Punctual as usual, he thought smiling. He opened the door to find Kirby standing there, a briefcase in his hand. The policeman ushered him in, his eyes gazing out into the night. The darkness was broken only here and there by the glow of street lamps. He closed the door and led Kirby through into the living room.
There was a pleasing warmth within the room which Kirby enjoyed, and he loosened his tie.
'Sit down,' said Lambert, and the doctor gratefully accepted, placing himself at one end of the sofa.
Debbie emerged from the kitchen. She was wearing a faded old blue blouse and jeans and Kirby ran an appreciative eye over her figure.
'Hello,' she said, gaily.
The doctor tried to rise but she waved him back. 'Would you like a drink? Tea, coffee or something stronger?'
'Tea is fine,' said Kirby, smiling.
She retreated into the kitchen and Lambert pointed to the briefcase lying beside Kirby. He flipped it open and took out a number of manilla files, each stamped with a number and name. He laid them on the coffee table before him and opened the first one.
'Ridley,' he announced. 'Like I told you over the phone, Tom, it was heart failure. The rest…' he hesitated, '… was done afterwards.'
There was a long silence as the policeman flicked through the slender report. He closed the file and looked at Kirby. 'You said over the phone that the scratch marks on Ridley's face matched those on the other three victims.'
Kirby nodded.
'What conclusions would you draw from that?'
The doctor shrugged. 'I'm not a policeman, Tom.'
'Imagine you were. What would you think?'
'I would say, against my better judgement, that Ridley was killed by the same man who killed the other three.'
'Which of course is impossible,' said Lambert, something mysterious dancing behind his blue eyes.
'Well of course it's impossible. Mackenzie's dead,' said Kirby, almost smiling.
Lambert got to his feet and crossed to the drinks cabinet. He poured himself a large scotch and downed a sizeable gulp before continuing.
'John, there was another reason I wanted you here tonight. I think it might be linked with Ridley's murder.'
Kirby interrrupted him. 'He wasn't murdered. He died of a heart attack.'
'He died of fright,' said Lambert, his voice rising in volume slightly. 'Besides, some mad bastard did that to him. Some fucking headcase tore out his eyes and hung him up.' There was anger in his voice, tinged with something else which seemed, to Kirby, like fear. The policeman drained his glass. 'Look, as I was saying, something else happened up at the cemetery. The graves of Mackenzie and Brooks were tampered with.'
Kirby looked vague.
'Dug up. Desecrated. Call it what you like. The bodies were taken.'
'How do you know?' Kirby swallowed hard.
'I ordered the graves to be opened. Both bodies were gone.'
'So how does this tie up with Ridley?' Lambert poured himself another drink and inhaled slowly.
'What would you say if I told you I think Ridley was killed by Ray Mackenzie?'
Kirby almost smiled. 'I'd say you should consider visiting a psychiatrist.'
'You said the marks on the faces of all four victims matched.'
'Tom, he's dead. I did the autopsy myself,' said Kirby incredulously.
Debbie emerged from the kitchen carrying a cup of tea which she handed to Kirby. He thanked her and sipped tentatively at it. She got one for herself and joined them, curling up in one of the armchairs beside the fire. Lambert too, sat down, his third glass of scotch cradled in his hand.
Kirby smiled. 'You do realize, Mrs. Lambert, that your husband is a total lunatic?'
'This is no joke,' snarled Lambert. 'What's your explanation?'
Kirby eyed the Inspector warily and stirred his tea needlessly. 'Tom, there must be a logical explanation for what happened. It's some sort of sick imitator. They must have read about the other murders in the paper and well…' He let the sentence trail off.
'No details of the murders were published in the paper,' Lambert corrected him, 'especially the taking of the eyes.'
'Coincidence,' said Kirby.
'Bullshit,' snapped Lambert. He took a sip of his drink. 'Look at what we've got here. A man is murdered, or mutilated anyway, in exactly the same way as three previous people. We've got two empty coffins, one of which belongs to a killer. Now, you tell me why anyone would want to steal those bodies and kill Ridley.'
There was silence in the room. The glow of the fire and single table lamp which had at first seemed so comforting now became almost oppressive. Shadows in the corner of the room were thick, black, almost palpable, and Debbie drew her chair closer to the fire.
'Tom, you're a logical man, for Christ's sake,' said Kirby.
Lambert held up a hand. 'O.K., let's look at it logically. God knows I want to find a logical explanation for all of this. Both coffins were empty, right? Both had large holes in the lids. The wood was bent outward.' He paused. 'Any theories?'
Kirby shrugged. 'Body snatching.'
'But why? Who'd want to steal two corpses? What are you going to do with them? Hang them over your fireplace?'
Debbie suppressed a grin, especially when she saw the pained expression on her husband's face. 'There is another explanation,' said Kirby.
'I'm waiting,' Lambert said, impatiently.
'Have you ever heard of catatonia?'
'I've heard of it, but I don't know exactly what it is.'
Kirby put down his tea. 'It's very rare now; it was quite common at one time but, what with advanced examination procedures it's become more or less obsolete.'
'Get to the point, John,' demanded Lambert, quietly.
'In a catatonic state, sometimes called a catatonic trance, the patient displays all the appearances of death. The bodily functions slow down, sometimes even stop altogether. It can last for seconds or hours.'
'So what are you saying?'
'That Mackenzie could have been in a state of advanced catatonia when he was buried.' A pause. 'He could have been buried alive.'
Lambert shook his head. 'John, he fell over a hundred feet from that hospital room. That's what killed him. He was dead. Dead as a bloody doornail and to hell with your scientific explanations. Besides, the grave of Brooks was empty too. Even if this crap about catatonia was right, the chances of it happening to two men at exactly the same time are millions to one.'
'What else do you have?' said Kirby, wearily.
Lambert shook his head. 'Nothing. Not a goddam thing.'
