The Inspector climbed into the car and reached for the two-way radio. He flicked the transmit button.
'Puma Two to base. Lambert here. Come in.'
A hiss of static then Hayes: 'Guv, you'd better come back. We've got Mackenzie.'
There was a grin of satisfied relief on Lambert's face.
'Be right there. Puma Two, out.' He put down the two-way and pointed ahead. 'Let's move.'
With a screech of spinning tyres, the Panda sped off.
Hayes met Lambert at the door of the police station and, together, they hurried down the corridor towards the cell where Mackenzie was being held.
'Where did they pick him up?' asked the Inspector, excitedly.
'He was run down by a car, outside Two Meadows early this morning,' Hayes told him.
Lambert looked puzzled. 'What the hell was he doing up at the cemetery?'
The question went unanswered.
'Who's with him now?' asked Lambert.
'Dr Kirby and Davies and Bell. They brought him in. The bloke who ran Mackenzie down phoned the station, I got them to pick him up.'
'Well done Vic,' said the Inspector. He suddenly stood still. 'You said he was run down. Is he hurt badly?'
Hayes smiled humourlessly. 'That's the funny thing. There's not a mark on him.'
Lambert pushed open the door to the cell and walked in. Standing on either side of the door were Constables Davies and Bell. Sitting on a chair next to the bed was Kirby and, lying on the bed itself, was the motionless figure of Ray Mackenzie.
'All right, lads,' said Lambert, motioning the two constables from the room. He closed the door behind them and looked at Kirby.
'Well?' he said
Kirby smiled, 'I haven't done a thorough examination yet.'
Lambert walked across to the bed and looked down at the prostrate form, the eyes tightly closed, mouth slightly open. He noted with disgust that a thin trail of saliva was dribbling from it. Kirby got up and crossed to the small wash basin in the cell, spashed his hands and dried them quickly. Then he reached into his black bag for his stethoscope. He pressed it to Mackenzie's chest, hearing at the same time the guttural laboured breathing.
'The heartbeat's strong,' said Kirby.
He checked the blood pressure and found it a little low, but nothing out of the ordinary.
As he rummaged for his pen light, Lambert said, 'Hayes told me a car hit him.'
'Apparently,' said Kirby, still searching.
'Was he unconscious when they brought him in?'
The doctor nodded, finally laying hands on his pen light. He bent closer to Mackenzie and pulled back one closed eyelid.
'Jesus Christ.'
Both men stepped back.
'What the hell is wrong with his eyes?' gasped Lambert.
Kirby, annoyed with himself for having been startled, now leant forward once more and gendy pushed back the eyelid. He found himself staring into a glazed orb of blood. No whites, no pupils. Just the fiery red of blood. He exhaled deeply and flicked on the penlight.
'It looks as though there's been some sort of haemorrhage in the vessels of the eye.' He checked the other one and found it was the same. Slowly, he bent forward and shone the tiny beam of light into Mackenzie's right eye.
The man roared a deep, animal bellow of rage and struck out. The powerful fist caught Kirby in the chest and knocked him back against the wall. He coughed, gasping for air.
Mackenzie lay still again.
'You all right?' said Lambert, helping the doctor to his feet.
Kirby coughed again and shook his head. His face was flushed and he rubbed his chest painfully. Only after a minute or so did he find the breath to speak.
'Tom, I want him strapped down before I continue the examination.' He groaned, 'Christ, the bastard nearly broke a rib.' Kirby sucked in air, finding the effort painful but gradually it passed and he retrieved his pen fight. Davies and Bell, meantime, had entered and were binding Mackenzie to the bed with thick rope. The Inspector checked that the bonds were secure and looked at Kirby.
'Pull his eyelids up,' instructed the doctor, watching as Lambert moved to the head of the bed. He leant over and gently drew back Mackenzie's thick lids, exposing the red spheres beneath. Kirby, keeping his distance, directed the pen fight at them.
Mackenzie roared again and tried to lunge forward but the ropes held him down. Lambert exerted an iron grip on his head giving time for Kirby to get a decent look. Mackenzie's screams of enraged pain echoed around the small cell, nearly deafening the two men. Kirby leaned closer, smelling the fetid breath in his face and nearly wincing away from it. But he kept the beam focused on the red eyes until he was satisfied. Then he flicked it off and Mackenzie's body went limp. The room, silent now, was disturbed only by his guttural breathing.
Kirby shook his head. 'Like I said, I would think it's something to do with the blood vessels in the eye. Possibly a disturbance of the cornea.'
'Would that explain his sensitivity to light?' asked Lambert.
'Not really. If it is corneal haemorrhage then there'd be no sight at all; he wouldn't even have been able to see the light.'
'What do you recommend?' Lambert wanted to know.
Kirby shrugged. 'Leave him for now. I'll come back in the morning and take another look. But Tom, I'd leave those ropes on.'
Lambert nodded and both men walked out, the Inspector being careful to lock the cell behind them. He posted Davies outside, telling the constable to let them know if there was any sign of movement from Mackenzie.
The Inspector looked at his watch. It was ten forty-three. It had been some morning.
'Fancy a drink?' he asked and Kirby nodded.
The snug bar of 'The Blacksmith' was empty when they walked in. The grate, where a coal fire burned at night, was empty. Just a cold black hole and the room itself was chilly but neither of them noticed. Lambert bought the drinks and returned to the table.
'Cheers,' he said, downing a large mouthful of scotch.
Kirby returned the compliment and sipped delicately at his half of lager.
'You realize this is unethical,' said the doctor, smiling.
'What?'
'A doctor and a police Inspector drinking on duty.'
Both men laughed.
'Sod the ethics, John,' said Lambert. 'Right now, I need this.' He took another swig and cradled the glass between his hands.
'I wonder what the local paper would make of this?' pondered Kirby.
Lambert grunted. 'They've got enough to keep them going at the moment without wondering whether you and I are drinking.' He paused for a moment. 'Three murders. Jesus. In a town this size.'
'Just be thankful you've got the killer.'
'I am, don't get me wrong. But there're things about this case that don't add up. And more than that, I've got a missing person on my hands too. Gordon Reece has…' struggled for the word, '… disappeared. I went to talk to him about his wife's death this morning and there was no sign of him. The neighbours haven't seen or heard him about since yesterday morning and I found this in the living room of the house.' He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the handkerchief. Unwrapping it carefully he revealed the bloodstained lump of glass.
'Three murders, the victims mutilated, and the husband of the third victim has disappeared without trace. Can you tell me what the hell is going on in this town?' He drained his glass and slammed it down on the table.