'Any of what, for Christ's sake?' said Burton, angrily. 'Just what is going on, Lambert? People have a right to know.'
'It's classified.'
'Don't give me that shit. Come on, divulge.' Lambert sat forward in his chair, the pen pointing at Burton.
'Look, Burton, none of this has anything to do with you or your blasted paper. If I say there'll be no information given about this case, then that's how it'll be.'
Burton smiled cryptically. 'You're a jumped-up little bastard, Lambert, you know that? Just who the hell do you think you are?'
'I'm the law. Who are you? Some glorified bloody paper boy who wants to find out some details so he can stick them in the local rag. I told you, there'll be no info given on this case until it's all wrapped up.'
'So what's all this crap about "Police statements"?' the newsman demanded.
'You'll get them in time,' Lambert told him.
Burton laughed. 'I know why you won't tell me anything. It's because you can't. You don't know what the hell is going on either. Lambert, you couldn't figure out a fucking crossword puzzle, let alone what's happening here.'
'It's police business. It's none of your concern.'
'People are dying, disappearing in this bloody town. We all have a right to know what's being done about it.'
Lambert reached into the drawer of his desk and pulled out a copy of the previous night's paper. He hurled it down.
'You don't have a right to print that,' he snarled, pointing to the column headed, 'Police baffled over disappearances.'
'And, another thing, if you print anything else about this case without my say so, I'll close your fucking paper down.'
'You bastard.'
'Welcome to the club,' said Lambert, angrily. The two men regarded each other for a moment, the tension between them almost visible. Then Lambert said: 'I mean it, Burton. I want all details, all speculation, kept out of the paper.'
The newsman was unimpressed but, his tone softened slightly.
'Off the record, what is going on?'
Lambert smiled at him. 'Off the record?'
Burton sat forward eagerly.
The Inspector pressed his fingertips together and sat back in his chair. 'I don't know.'
'Come on, Lambert, I said off the record.'
'I'm telling you,' the policeman continued, 'I don't know.'
'But it is true that twelve people have disappeared during the last couple of weeks?' asked Burton eagerly.
'Where did you get that information?' the Inspector wanted to know.
Burton was losing his temper. 'People talk. That's the only thing they are talking about at the moment. Nothing's happened in this place for fifty years. The biggest event of the year is the bloody Church social. What the hell do you expect them to talk about? It's common knowledge.' He paused, waiting for the Inspector to speak but he remained impassive.
'So, is it true?' he asked again.
'Off the record?'
Burton nodded.
'It's true,' Lambert said, 'but if you print that, I'll have you for disclosure of evidence.'
'What's happened to them?' asked Burton.
'Maybe they just left town.'
'Come on, Lambert, I said this was off the record,' said the newsman, becoming irritable again.
'You want a comment, right?' Lambert said. 'Something to print. An official police statement?'
Burton looked eager, nodding frenziedly.
'All right,' said Lambert, 'got a pen?'
Burton pulled out a notebook, flipped it open and waited expectantly.
'My official statement regarding this case,' began Lambert, 'is simple enough.' He paused. 'No comment.'
'You bastard,' snarled Burton.
Lambert had to fight to suppress a grin as he watched the editor turn scarlet with rage. He stood up, slipping the notebook back into his pocket. The newsman headed for the door, turning as he reached it.
'This case will beat you, Lambert, and I'll be the first one to wave goodbye when they wheel you out.'
Burton had the door half open.
'Hey, Charlie,' called Lambert, half smiling, 'for the record.'
'What?' snapped Burton.
'Fuck you.'
The editor slammed the door as he left. A moment later Sergeant Hayes popped his head round the door.
'Everything all right, guv?' he asked.
Lambert smiled, 'Yes thanks, Vic. Just Mr Burton blowing his top. Nothing to worry about.'
Hayes nodded. 'Anything else, guv?'
Lambert smiled, 'Yes. I could murder a cup of tea.'
Hayes scuttled off to make it, closing the door behind him. Lambert exhaled deeply, his forehead creased heavily. He thought of Debbie, at home at this very moment, trying to decipher the two huge volumes which Trefoile had given them. She had taken a few days off so that she could work on them and perhaps find an answer quickly. Time suddenly seemed very important. Lambert just hoped that it wouldn't run out for him. Or for the whole town, come to that. He looked out of the window, pleased to sunlight.
He was beginning to dread the night.
The wind had grown steadily as the evening wore on. As the sun sank, it had been little more than a gentle breeze, but now, just after midnight, it had grown in ferocity to almost gale proportions.
Charles Burton lay in bed listening to the gate slamming repeatedly in the passageway below. The narrow entrance and stone corridor separated the house from the one next door and it was the wooden door at the head of the passage that was being buffetted by the wind. It smashed sporadically into the lintel, each fresh impact jarring Burton and making him more irritable. If it went on much longer he would have to get up and close the bloody thing. It had a latch but the people next door usually forgot to put it on. That was why the door was slamming now.
Burton exhaled deeply, closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but the insistent banging of the gate disturbed him. Finally he swung himself out, pulled on his trousers and slid his sockless feet into his shoes.
'What's up?' croaked Stevie Lawson, sleepily. She looked up and saw, through blurred eyes, Burton trying to zip up his trousers. He caught a pubic hair in the zipper and yelped in pain.
'Shit,' he snarled.
Stevie smiled. 'What are you doing?'
'It's that bloody gate,' said Burton, inclining his head. As if to add weight to his statement, there was an almighty crash as it cracked into the jamb once more.
'They must have forgotten to lock it, next door,' said Stevie, yawning. 'Can't you leave it?'
'It's getting on my nerves,' he snapped, heading for the bedroom door. He pulled it open and fumbled for the landing light which he slapped on.
'Come back to bed,' purred Stevie, allowing the sheet to drop, revealing her breasts. 'Forget about the gate.'
Burton felt a stirring in his groin at the sight of those firm mounds and he almost hesitated, but the gate slammed again and he was off down the stairs.
Stevie heard him open the hall door and blunder through the living room. She rolled onto her back and stretched beneath the sheets. Burton might be getting on a bit, she thought to herself, but he certainly knew how to treat a woman.
Their lovemaking had been even more abandoned that night, animalistic almost, and the thought of it made her tingle. She'd hang onto him for a couple more weeks. He bought her flowers and perfume, anything she wanted really. She only had to ask and he'd get it for her. Silly old bastard, she thought. Couldn't he see she was using him? She'd cooked him dinner that night, listened disinterestedly as he'd prattled on about his day's work. She fussed him, teased him, and finally they had climbed into bed. To her it seemed like a fair deal, he got what he wanted from her, she got what she wanted from him. Sometimes it was difficult to tell who was using who. Still, she thought, next time she'd pick up a younger bloke. Burton had the money and he was good in bed, but she wanted someone nearer her own age. He could only manage it twice in a night and sometimes that wasn't enough for her.