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teeth. A few of the students looked in their direction. Mad Terry had been the uninspired nickname given to Terrence Haydon whilst at University. The nickname resulted from a few eccentric behaviours, such as walking with long, exaggerated steps as he made his way around. ‘I don’t know. It’s partly why I need to see DI May. There are so many possibilities at this juncture it’s not worth hypothesising.’
    Klatzky gripped Lambert’s wrists, his hands sweaty. ‘But Billy hardly knew Mad Terry, what’s this to do with anything?’
    Lambert unpeeled Klatzky’s fingers, and, grimacing, wiped the sweat off onto the plastic table covering. ‘It could mean anything or nothing,’ he said, softening his voice. ‘Maybe the killer thought Haydon knew something about him.’
    ‘After all this time?’
    ‘It’s a possibility. Perhaps Haydon contacted the authorities. There’s no way for me to know until I look into it in more detail.’
    ‘What if the killer’s coming after everyone involved in Billy’s killing? Everyone who knew him?’
    ‘Don’t be dramatic, you need to snap out of this. If he’s going to kill someone once every eighteen years there’s a good chance that we’re all going to be safe. Listen, I need to go. I’m not sure how long I’ll be but I’ll call you when I’m finished. Try to get some rest somewhere.’
    ‘Where do you suggest?’ asked Klatzky.
    ‘I don’t know. Find a sofa. But stay away from the bars.’
    ‘Any other orders?’
    ‘No.’
    Lambert reached the coffee shop thirty minutes early. Like London, Bristol basked in the heat of the Indian summer. A number of people sat outside the glass-fronted café. One of the crowd, a woman with shoulder-length black hair, stood up as Lambert walked towards the entrance. ‘Mr Lambert?’ she said.
    Lambert turned to face the woman. ‘Yes?’
    ‘I’m DI May. Sarah.’
    ‘How did you know who I was?’
    ‘Forgive me,’ said May, not once taking her gaze away from him. ‘Can I get you a coffee and perhaps we can go inside and talk.’
    ‘Decaf, thanks,’ said Lambert.
    A blast of cold air hit Lambert as he entered the high-ceilinged coffee shop, at first refreshing then uncomfortable. DI May directed him to a small booth with high wooden benches. She returned with two drinks and smiled as she sat down opposite him. Her large brown eyes shone bright, full of confidence and intelligence. She wasn’t wearing make-up and Lambert wondered if her looks were a benefit or hindrance in her professional life. From his experience, he imagined it was probably a bit of both.
    ‘So tell me DI May…’
    ‘Sarah, please,’ said the woman with a soft, yet firm voice.
    ‘Sarah. Tell me what you found out about me?’
    DI May leant forward in her chair, her gaze remained steady, never once leaving Lambert’s eyes. Most people would have found her glare unnerving, would have felt obliged to look away, but Lambert matched her look. She spoke with a sly amusement. ‘Well, first of all, possibly most importantly, I know you’re a friend of the last Souljacker victim, Billy Nolan. In fact, Mr Lambert …’
    ‘Please, Michael.’
    May squinted her eyes. ‘Michael. You were initially a suspect.’
    Lambert crossed his arms, deciding not to answer.
    ‘Of course, you were one of many potential suspects and were cleared very early on in the case.’
    Lambert’s eyes widened, prompting the DI to continue.
    ‘After graduation you were accepted into the accelerated programme, where you excelled.’ She nodded in admiration, and let out a small laugh. ‘You moved up the ranks and reached DCI.’
    Impressed by her research, Lambert didn’t interrupt.
    ‘And then the mystery.’
    ‘The mystery?’
    ‘Yes, six years ago your work becomes classified. I received a phone call from a Chief Super this morning for trying to access the details.’
    ‘Which one?’
    ‘Tillman.’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘So can you fill in those blanks for me,