the blank entries in his work record, the inquiry light-hearted.
‘There’s no great mystery.’ He’d drunk too much wine, her company relaxing him.
‘Who said anything about a mystery? Don’t hype yourself up.’ She gently shoulder-charged him, forcing him to stumble.
‘You’re quite impressive, DI May. I can never tell for sure if I’m being interrogated or not. Such confusion is not normal for me.’
‘I’m off the clock now,’ she said, as they reached the hotel entrance. She turned to him, her left cheek curling slightly into a smile: a beautiful and stark contrast to the snarl he’d seen earlier that day on Sandra Vernon’s face. He wondered what would happen if he leant in to kiss her, and took a step backwards realising he’d drunk even more than he’d imagined.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ said May, saving him the embarrassment. She offered her hand which he shook savouring the warm softness of her flesh.
He said goodbye and retreated to the hotel, a sudden sense of fatigue spreading through him. He spotted Klatzky in the hotel bar, his arms wrapped around the black-haired student from the morning. They were alone, two wine bottles on the table before them. Lambert tried not to think about how much it would be costing. He retreated upstairs before either of them saw him.
Back in his hotel room, he checked his email and phone messages. Sophie had left a voicemail asking when he would be home. She would be asleep now so he sent her a text. Restless, he logged into The System. As he was using the hotel’s Wi-Fi, he had to pass through a number of extra security measures before gaining access.
He checked Sarah May’s file first, verifying what he’d been told over dinner. He checked for updates on HOLMES, and saw the name of his ex-girlfriend, Siobhan Callahan. May had met her earlier that day, not long after speaking to him. DI May moved fast and hadn’t shared as much with him as he’d thought. He tried to picture what Siobhan would look like now. She’d been such a slight thing, wild, spikey hair, a tattoo on her shoulder. He couldn’t imagine her now, wasn’t sure he wanted to know how time had changed her.
He studied the rest of the Haydon file. He knew most of the document by heart now, but began reading from the start again. He always worked this way. The repetition helped him process the information, his mind working on the finer details he may have initially missed. Instead of merely scanning, he studied each page of the file, analysing the structure and each individual word of the report until it stopped making sense.
He switched off the light and lay on the bed listening to the hum of the air conditioning circling the room. His head was overrun with images. Sleep was elusive, the wine he’d drunk keeping him awake. Alone in the darkness, his thoughts always returned to his daughter, Chloe. During the day he tried to keep busy, distracting himself with the mundane activities of life. But she never totally left him. She lingered in the faces of strangers, her voice whispered in their conversations. At night he had no way of deflecting her. He tried to turn his thoughts to the case, but however hard he concentrated they spiralled back to Chloe. His throat constricted as he fought back tears. He snapped the light back on and left the room, in time to see Simon Klatzky, his arm draped across his young student friend, trying to open the door to his hotel room. Lambert stepped back and took the opposite route around the floor towards the lift.
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