Lambert shook his head.
Hayes looked put out. 'But surely H.Q…' Lambert interrupted, 'And what the hell am I supposed to tell them? Please could I have some reinforcements here as we've got several living corpses walking around? They'd find me a nice cell with padded wallpaper.'
A ripple of nervous laughter broke up the tension. It quickly vanished as Lambert continued. 'No. For the time being, it's up to us. Now, these things only seem to come out at night which gives us a bit of breathing space at least. I want full patrols tonight, no man walking a beat is to be alone. Radio in if you see anything suspicious. Don't go near one of them alone. Understand?'
The men nodded. Lambert stood for a moment, trying to think if there was anything he'd left out. Finally deciding that there wasn't, he dismissed the men. As they filed out he heard young Briggs mutter to Walford, 'It's like something out of a horror film,' and he guffawed as he said it.
'I wish it was,' Lambert called after him, then, softly, 'I wish to God it was a bloody film.' He turned to Kirby, 'There's always an expert in a horror film, isn't there? You know, some smart-assed bastard who knows how to deal with things like this.' He almost laughed.
Kirby shook his head. 'Let's not get too paranoid about it, Tom.'
Lambert looked at him for a second, then he headed for the door. When he reached it he turned. 'I'll stop being paranoid when all this is over.' He walked out, leaving Kirby sitting alone in the room gently rubbing the scars on his neck.
Lambert drove home slowly that night, taking a route directly through the centre of Medworth, something which he usually avoided doing. He didn't know why, but the sight of people milling about the town centre reassured him. He drove in silence, not bothering to switch on the radio. He had enough on his mind as it was. The clock on the Capri dashboard showed five o'clock and the shops were beginning to close. Dusk hovered on the horizon, a portent of the darkness which would envelope the land in the coming hours. Lambert wondered what this particular night would bring with it. More deaths perhaps? He pushed the thought to one side and brought the car to a halt at a crossing. He tapped agitatedly on the wheel as the two women crossed, nodding affably to him. He lifted a weary hand in acknowledgement and drove on.
A motorcycle passed him, the driver wearing no crash helmet. Ordinarily, the Inspector would have driven after the youth and maybe even cautioned him, but this particular evening he let the incident pass. He watched as the bike roared away out of sight.
The drizzle which had blanketed the town for most of the day had finally given way to heavier rain and, as large spots of moisture began to splatter the windscreen, Lambert flicked on his wipers. The rubber arms swept away the rain, momentarily blurring his field of vision. By the time he reached home, it was pouring down. He locked the car door and bolted for the house, careful to remove his shoes when he got into the hall. He stood there for a moment then swiftly slid both bolts across, securing the door. Satisfied, he walked into the living room. The smell of cooking beef wafted out of the kitchen to greet him.
'Jack the Ripper's home,' he called, reaching for the local paper.
'Oh good, I thought it might be someone dangerous,' Debbie called from the kitchen.
Lambert took off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, his eyes fixed to the column of newsprint beside the headline. The policeman sat down and scanned the small article headline POLICE BAFFLED OVER DISAPPEARANCES.
'That bastard,' he snarled and threw the paper down.
Debbie appeared in the doorway. 'What's wrong?' she asked.
'Have you seen the local?' said Lambert, motioning to the discarded paper on the coffee table. 'That bastard Burton, I told him not to mention this in the paper. He's called me three times in the past week to ask what's going on. I said I'd issue a statement when the time was right.'
Debbie picked up the paper and read the short - column which told of the disappearances of a number of people in Medworth. No names mentioned, though.
'It doesn't seem to give too much away, Tom,' she said, placatingly.
'That's not the point,' snapped Lambert. 'I told him. Nothing to be printed until I found out what was going on. It's bloody scare mongering, that's all it is. If people read this it won't make the investigation any easier.'
'It'll get round by word of mouth,' said Debbie, returning to the kitchen. 'People are talking about it now.'
'What people?' Lambert wanted to know.
'Come on, Tom, it's a big talking point in the town. After all, it's the most exciting thing that's happened here for years.'
'I'd hardly call five murders and twelve disappearances excitement, would you?' He sighed. 'Christ, if they knew the truth they'd shut up.'
He flicked on the television and watched the news. The same old stuff. Strikes, Government upsets, the usual batch of robberies and murders. He picked up the local newspaper and read the column again, wondering if Detective Chief Inspector James Baron had seen it. If he had, it would be odds on he'd be on Lambert's back the following day wanting to know what was happening. The Inspector dropped the paper again. How the hell was he supposed to explain if Baron did call?
Debbie's shout to tell him that dinner was on the table interrupted his chain of thought and he trudged out into the kitchen and sat down. He ate in silence for a time with Debbie watching him.
'I had a lovely day, thank you dear,' she said, sarcastically. 'Oh did you, dear, fine.'
Lambert looked up and smiled. 'Sorry.'
'Welcome back to planet Earth,' said Debbie, softly.
'I was thinking,' he said.
'You always are.'
'I mean, what do you call this? This state that Mackenzie and Brooks are in? How do you rationalize what Kirby and I saw the other night?'
'You can't rationalize it, Tom. It happened, that's all there is to it.'
'But, Mackenzie. I mean to say, it's not life after death in the sense we know it. It's living death. He's dead but he's walking around.' Lambert began to laugh, quietly at first and then more heartily. Debbie swallowed hard as she watched him. He smiled and shook his head, the spasm subsiding.
'I think I'm going insane,' he said, looking at her. 'None of this can be happening. Things like this only happen in bad horror films.' His tone darkened once more. 'And yet I saw Emma Reece get up out of that coffin. I saw her attack Kirby, I felt her strength. I saw that, Debbie. My eyes saw something which my mind can't accept. I saw a dead man walk.' He pushed his plate away from him and rested his head on his hands which he had clasped before him.
'Do you think I'm insane?' he asked.
She shook her head.
'What's happening now, it goes against everything I've ever believed in. Right from the start of your training, they teach you to keep an open mind about things. Never make hasty decisions. Always weigh up all the evidence before making your judgement.' He smiled humourlessly. 'The trouble is, I've made up my mind. All the evidence points to something which, by all the laws of nature, is impossible. The dead are coming back to life.' He paused. 'All those who are victims, in turn, become living dead themselves. Even Brooks, Mackenzie killed him in the fall.'
'But what about the first two victims,' asked Debbie, 'and Father Ridley?'
'June and Michelle Mackenzie were cremated. Ridley died of a heart attack. He wasn't actually killed by the living dead. It's only those who are murdered by them that return.'
'Like vampires,' said Debbie, flatly. 'Their victims always become like them.'
Lambert shook his head. 'This is different. There's a pattern, a reason for it. It's almost as if there's a force behind it. Something more powerful than the creatures themselves. Something… something that's guiding them.' He rubbed his chin. 'There's a key somewhere, Debbie, a key that will give us the answer. It's just a matter of finding it. I hope to God I can find it in time.'
The phone rang. Debbie got up but Lambert waved her back.
'I'll get it,' he said.
