'John,' said Lambert, climbing up into the ambulance.
'He's dying,' said Kirby flatly.
It was then that Lambert looked down at the prostrate form and saw that it was Charles Burton.
'Jesus Christ,' gasped the Inspector.
At the sound, Burton opened his eyes slightly. When he saw Lambert, they widened to huge orbs, filled with pain and something more. Fear perhaps. The newsman lifted one bloodstained hand towards Lambert and croaked, 'Lambert.' Blood dribbled over his lips and he winced, as if the effort of talking were too much, but he drew in a painful breath and continued. The policeman leant closer.
'What are they?' gasped Burton, his wide eyes fixing the Inspector momentarily in a piercing stare. Then, slowly, he closed his eyes. Lambert looked down at the torn face, the blood-matted hair, a portion of skull shining white amidst the clumps of congealing gore. Kirby pushed him aside and laid his stethoscope on Burton's chest. He felt for a pulse, digging his fingers almost savagely into the wrist. He shook his head angrily.
An ambulanceman appeared in the doorway and looked at Kirby.
'Will you be travelling to the hospital, doctor?' he asked.
'No need,' said Kirby and stepped down, followed by Lambert.
They heard the doors being slammed and, a second later the ambulance pulled away. Its blue light was extinguished. There was no longer an emergency. No hurry to reach the hospital. Not any longer.
Constable Bell appeared again.
'There's blood all over the house, sir,' he said, swallowing.
Lambert nodded. 'What about Mrs Lawson?'
'No sign of her anywhere.'
Bell wandered off again, leaving the two men alone outside the house. Lambert looked up into the dark sky, flecked with hundreds of silver pinpricks of stars. He sighed then looked at Kirby.
'This has gone far enough, John,' he said, flatly. 'We need help.'
Lambert and Kirby spoke little on the journey to Divisional Headquarters in Nottingham. Almost against his better judgment, the Inspector had finally decided that he needed reinforcements to deal with the growing threat which hung over Medworth like some supernatural cloud. He was perspiring slightly although the early morning sun had not yet reached its full power and the last vestiges of dawn mist still hung, wraithlike, in the hollows and woods which dotted the route. There wasn't much traffic on the road and for that Lambert was thankful. He cruised, doing an even fifty for most of the journey, causing Kirby to glance down at the speedometer every now and then. But he said nothing. He too realized the importance of their journey, and as far as both of them were concerned, the sooner it was over, the better.
On the back seat of the Capri was a leather attache case, filled to bursting point with every detail they could lay their hands on concerning the horrors which had taken place in Medworth over the past month or so. Coroner's reports, backgrounds of victims, what scant details they had of the disappearances (there had been twenty-four up to date) and full reports by Lambert on what was happening.
As they sat in silence, watching the countryside speeding by, both men had the same thought. How the hell were they going to convince Lambert's superiors of the truth of what was going on in the little town?
The journey took less than forty minutes and, at around nine-thirty, Lambert was guiding the Capri through the busy streets of Nottingham, blasting his horn angrily at a cyclist who hesitated too long at traffic lights. The poor woman was so unnerved by the sudden sound that she nearly toppled off into the path of a passing jeep. Lambert swung the car past her and asked Kirby to check just exactly where they were.
'Take a left at the next crossroads,' said the doctor, running his index finger over the inner city map.
The Inspector obeyed, and within minutes they found themselves in a huge car park which fronted the main building, a massive edifice of glass and concrete which seemed to tower up into the very clouds themselves. Sunlight glinted off the many windows which winked like myriad glass eyes, peering down on the tiny car as the Inspector parked it and they both got out. They walked swiftly across the paved area, Lambert looking in awe at the seemingly endless lines of parked Pandas.
They reached the main entrance and climbed the flight of broad stone steps until a row of wire meshed glass doors confronted him. Lambert pushed the first of these, holding it open for
Kirby to pass through. They found themselves in a huge reception area with what looked like a gigantic duty desk at one end. Lambert crossed to it and asked the sergeant on duty where he could find Detective Chief Inspector Baron. The sergeant asked who the Inspector was and Lambert produced his own I.D. card to prove his validity. The sergeant nodded and directed the two men to a lift across the entrance way and told them to take it to the fifth floor.
There was a loud ring as the lift arrived and three uniformed men stepped out, pushing past Lambert and Kirby as if they were in a hurry. The two men stepped into the lift and Lambert jabbed the button marked '5'. There was a humming sound as the lift ascended. It reached five and, with a loud ring, the doors opened. The two men stepped out, feeling the thickness of lush carpet beneath their feet. The corridor was silent, all sounds muffled by the thick cloth on which they walked. At the far end was a desk behind which sat a woman in her thirties. She was reading and, as Lambert drew closer, he could see that the book was called 'Hot Lips.' He suppressed a grin as the woman put the book down and smiled politely up at him.
'Good morning, sir,' she said.
'Good morning,' replied Lambert, 'I'd like to see DCI Baron please. My name is Lambert.' He reached for the plastic card again and showed it to her, 'Inspector Lambert.'
'Just a moment, sir,' she said and flicked a switch on the panel before her. There was a loud buzzing noise and then a metallic voice came through the speaker;
'Yes.'
'Carol. There's a…' she hesitated, looking at the name on the card, '… Inspector Tom Lambert out here. He wants to see Mr Baron.'
'Send him in,' instructed the voice. 'But Mr Baron is busy at the moment, he might have to wait.'
'That's O.K.,' said the Inspector.
The receptionist showed them a door off to the right and the two men nodded as they walked in.
'It's more like a bloody hotel,' said Lambert under his breath, walking into another office. It was decorated in a lemon yellow, the walls hung with a number of paintings. The area to their left was one huge plate glass window through which the early morning sun was streaming, dust particles swirling in its powerful rays. There were five leather chairs along the opposite wall and an ashtray beside each one. At the far end of the room was a desk and, on either side of the desk, a door. As Lambert approached the desk he could see the two names, which were fastened to the dark wood of the doors, in gold letters. The name on the right hand door was Chief Inspector Mark Dayton. The one on the left read Detective Chief Inspector James Baron.
'Inspector Lambert?' said the receptionist, a woman with a round face and large glasses.
Lambert nodded.
'You'll have to wait, I'm afraid. Mr Baron is busy at the moment.'
'How long will he be?'
The woman smiled, an efficient smile practised over the years. 'I can't say for sure, but if you'd like to take a seat I'll send you in as soon as I can.' She motioned to the leather chairs and the two men sat down. The wall clock said nine forty-five. Lambert lit up his first cigarette of the day.