'Twenty-four people have disappeared inside a month,' Lambert told him. 'We can't find a trace of them. All we ever find at the scene of the assault is lots of blood.'
'That proves nothing,' said Baron flinging the files back onto the desk.
'People don't just disappear,' said Lambert, his voice rising in volume, 'there's a pattern to it.'
Kirby pointed to the marks on his neck. 'These wounds were inflicted by a woman who had been buried for over a week.' There was a long silence as Baron regarded the two men suspiciously.
'You're both bloody crazy,' said Baron, smiling.
'Sir, for God's sake, can't you at least offer an explanation? We've tried every possible avenue to find a plausible answer. There is not a plausible answer,' said Lambert, barely able to control himself.
Kirby returned to the wounds on his neck. 'This woman attacked me. She rose from the grave and attacked me. I was as skeptical as you until that happened but I'm telling you, I was attacked by a living corpse.'
There was a moment's silence, during which time Baron's smile faded. He leant forward, his voice now hard-edged and emotionless.
'Now you listen to me, both of you. I'm a busy man, I've got lots of responsibilities and I haven't got the time to sit around listening to two raving lunatics trying to tell me that they've got a town full of living corpses.' He pointed a stern finger at Lambert. 'If you were a man off the street I might find this whole thing amusing. But you're not, you're an Inspector in Her Majesty's Police force and, listening to what you've just told me, you make me wonder how you ever got past the cadet stage, let alone become an Inspector.' The older man's face was going scarlet with rage. 'How old are you, Lambert?'
'Twenty-two,' he replied, the fury likewise building within himself. He felt like dragging Baron across the desk, strapping him in the car and driving him back to Medworth to leave him at the mercy of the things which roamed the town at night. Perhaps then the old sod would begin to understand.
'Well, when you've been in this bloody game as long as I have perhaps you'll have the sense to keep your idiot fantasies to yourself instead of wasting my time with them.'
Lambert clenched his teeth, the knot of muscles at the side of his jaw pulsing angrily. He gripped the sides of his chair until he threatened to tear them loose.
'All I want is half a dozen men to back up my boys,' he said quietly, the anger seething behind his words.
'Forget it,' snapped Baron, returning to his coffee and looking out of the window as if the two men didn't even exist.
'We can't manage on our own,' snarled Lambert, his voice rising in volume.
Baron swung round. 'Get out of here before I have you both thrown out,' he-shouted.
Kirby gathered the photos and files and dropped them into the case.
The D.C.I. hadn't finished: 'Another thing, Lambert. If I hear anything more about this… ridiculous affair, if I see anything in the paper about it, I'll tell you this now, sunshine, within a week, you'll be back walking a damned beat.' He paused a second: 'Now get out before I have you both locked up.'
Lambert hesitated. 'All right, if you won't give us men at least give us guns.' That was it. The words hung in the air. Make or break.
Silence reigned supreme in the sunlit office. There was a high pitched squeaking sound as Baron leant forward in his chair. The Inspector wasn't sure whether or not a smile was hovering on his lips, and when he finally spoke, his tone was soft, gende even.
'You know something, Lambert, you really have got nerve, haven't you?'
Lambert swallowed hard. 'The guns sir. Please.'
Another long silence followed then Baron reached forward and flicked a switch on his intercom.
'Carol,' he said, 'have Dayton come in, will you?'
He sat back again, gazing at the two men who stood before him like naughty children in front of an angry headmaster. A second later the door to Barton's office opened and Chief Inspector Mark Dayton walked in.
'You wanted something, guv?' he said, without looking at either Lambert or Kirby.
'Take Inspector Lambert here down to the basement. Issue him with all he wants.'
Dayton looked puzzled, he raised one eyebrow and looked quizzically at the two men then he said, 'Come on, follow me.' The trio turned but, as they reached the door Baron called: 'Lambert.'
The young Inspector turned. 'Sir?'
Baron's voice was low, soft with menace. 'If this turns out to be bullshit, I'll have your fucking head.'
Lambert closed the door gently behind him. 'Cunt,' he muttered under his breath and hurried off to catch up with Kirby and Dayton who were already half way down the corridor.
Dayton leant up against one corner of the lift as it dropped the six floors to the basement. He regarded the men opposite him with indifference. Lambert guessed that the policeman must be ten, perhaps fifteen years older than himself. Dayton was tall but in an ungainly way and his feet seemed to have been designed for someone much smaller than him. That would probably account for his shuffling walk. He had thick eyebrows which snaked upwards giving him a look of perpetual surprise.
The lift came to a halt and the doors slid open. Both Lambert and Kirby were immediately taken aback by the overpowering smell of oil and cordite, an odour which the Inspector rapidly recognized as gun oil.
They walked across the stone floor of the basement, their footsteps echoing on the hard surface and the sounds reminded Lambert of an underground car park. They came to a heavy iron gate which Dayton unlocked. He ushered them in.
The room was small but all four walls held racks which sported row upon row of rifles, shotguns and pistols. There was what looked like a counter over by the far wall and a man in a white smock was cleaning a revolver behind it. He looked up when he saw the trio enter, then looked down again, returning to his task.
'Pete,' called Dayton, 'we want some stuff.'
Peter Baker put down the pistol and nodded. He wiped a hand across his forehead, forgetting it was still smeared with grease, and left a black mark from temple to temple. Lambert looked up at the rows of guns.
'How many in your force?' asked Dayton.
'Ten,' Lambert told him.
'What are they like with weapons?'
Lambert shrugged, 'God knows. I doubt if any of them have even touched a gun let alone fired one. I haven't myself.'
Baker grinned and reached to the rack behind him. He pulled the gun down and handed it to Lambert who was surprised by its weight.
'What is it?' he asked, hefting it back and forth.
'An automatic shotgun,' Baker told him. 'The Yanks call them pump guns.' He looked at Dayton and both men laughed. Lambert couldn't see the joke. He held the gun up to his shoulder and squinted down the sight.
'No need for that,' said Baker, smiling, 'it isn't a hunting rifle. Just make sure you're on target when you pull the trigger and hang onto it tight. Whatever you hit with that won't get up again.'
'Let's hope not,' said Kirby, cryptically.
'With just a bit of practice you'll be able to handle it,' Baker assured him. 'But like I said, hang on tight when you pull the trigger, it's got quite a recoil. You could blow a hole in a house with one of those.'
'Give him ten,' said Dayton.
'What about pistols?' Lambert asked.
Dayton looked aghast. 'Are you planning a commando raid or something? This is England. Not bloody New York.' He shook his head. 'Pete, give him a couple of Brownings too.'
Baker nodded and laid down two automatic pistols beside the stack of shotguns and ammunition.
'Bring your car round to the back of the building,' said Dayton. 'We'll have this lot sent up and you can load it straight in.'
By one that afternoon, Lambert and Kirby were on their way back to Medworth, the guns safely stored in the boot of the Capri. Neither of them spoke.
The Inspector put his foot down, anxious to get back. He had to tell his men what had happened, tell them that from now on they were on their own. He realized too that he and the rest of the small force would have to
